


Off The Set

by bakerstreetashtray



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Acting AU, Actors AU, M/M, kind of but also loads of other stuff, mormor, mormorphone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 116,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetashtray/pseuds/bakerstreetashtray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty is tired of being a voice on the end of the phone. He wants the reputation, the glamour he's been promised, and he'll do whatever he can to get there. Criminal empire on hold, he exploits his connections to take a part in a blockbuster movie, and meets Sebastian Moran along the way; his leading co-star who makes it all seem so easy.</p><p>But it isn't easy -  with his 'connections' threatening to cause real harm to his health, and his empire festering without him, the past can't stay behind Jim for long. And it may resurface as an even darker, more menacing past than even Jim himself remembers. </p><p>Notoriety comes with a cost. </p><p>[mormorphone.tumblr.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New

The sun streams through the windows of the penthouse, and I smile sleepily, stretching out my arms in bed, silk bedsheets caressing my skin. A nervous flutter in my stomach reminds me that today is the first day of the rest of my life.

 

Today we start filming. Soon we'll be en route to Essex for busy prep, and the lines I've been memorising for months now will finally be said in front of a camera. I'll meet my cast mates, my make up and costume team... I'll get my own trailer. 

  
Money. Fame. Escape.

I extricate myself from Craig and saunter to the bathroom, careful not to wake him. He's got a big day ahead too, and I've learned the hard way before that he doesn't like being woken up earlier than necessary. I shower quickly and cleanly, and change three times before settling for jeans and a t shirt. I'll be changing as soon as I get there, anyway. I wipe steam from the mirror to look at my face, grinning at my reflection, at hungry brown eyes. Months of planning. It's time. 

I eat breakfast as silently as possible, my mind busy as I make Craig some sandwiches for the cab ride to Essex. He'll get antsy if he doesn't eat. I think about myself as a teenager; how I'd stare glassy-eyed at the billboards, even then never fully satisfied with the money that filled my pockets from the hit jobs, the drug laundering. They knew me as 'M' back then - faceless, nameless, a force to be reckoned with. But I wanted to be known. I wanted reputation. Celebrity.

The criminal underworld seems a universe away, now. James Moriarty, en route to making a  name for himself. Clean money. Reputation. James Moriarty; star of the newest John Honsson feature. 

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Craig's words are a drawled scoff, and I jump, finding him watching me from the bathroom doorway. I fold my arms across my chest, feeling idiotic for being startled. I'd been looking at myself, this way and that, trying out my expressions. I feel my cheeks flush, and laugh off the irritation, stepping towards him. I run my hands over his chest. Nothing can ruin this day. Soon, he'll be replaceable. 

"I made you some sandwiches for the ride."

"What?"

"We've got to go." I tell him, calm and clear. "We'll be late, otherwise."

Craig shoves me off, rolling his eyes. He's a big man, broad and thick faced, his hair an unruly black mess - the curls always greasy. I doubt he'll shower before the shoot, today. I'm hard pressed to get him to shower before sex; he's not altogether pleasant when he's crawling on top of me, but I'm not really in a place to complain. I know he loves me. He craves me. And that's what I need, right now. 

Unfortunately for me, I owe him a lot. I owe him my whole fucking life. 

"We go when I say we go." He grunts, and pads off into the kitchen. I purse my lips unhappily, looking at the clock. I don't want to be late. It's my big break. I sit down on the bed, forcing myself to just... calm. He's right, I suppose reluctantly. There's no rush.

I listen to him clattering around in the kitchen, tossing my neat organisation out of the window. He farts, grunts when he sniffs the milk, and I hear him empty it down the sink.

"There's a fresh one behind the-"

"Did I fucking call you? Pipe down."

My cheeks burn, and I grit my teeth indignantly. But I listen to him. I'll be no use as an actor if I can't obey commands. As pigheaded as he is, I owe Craig everything. Those four words put my head back into the game.  I busy myself with finding my script again, going over my lines for today. I run my fingers over the words, hungry excitement fluttering in my stomach. I'm cast alongside Sebastian Moran - but at the moment, he's just a name. I won't make the mistake of asking Craig about him again, and the last time he caught me on the laptop, he...

I mean, it was Craig's laptop. I shouldn't have been on it, anyway. Supposedly. I shouldn't doubt him, he screamed at me. He knows his casting - he's a casting director for Honsson. One of the biggest directors in the world. Between blows of his fists, he delighted in telling me that it was my fault. Always my fault. 

I wince when I hear him yell in the kitchen, and a moment later a mug smashes. My heart sinks. I hear the fragments scatter everywhere, and I'm on my feet, heading in to clear it up. There'd be hell to pay if I didn't.

"Don't worry.."

I'm on my hands and knees, picking up the pieces when he kicks me in the side, foaming at the mouth with his own rage. I jolt, pained. He clutches a hand, burnt from the boiling water. It's my fault, he bellows, and I grit my teeth against rage that bubbles in my stomach. I try and reason with myself. The mug was mine. The handle too thin. I never did have any clue about crockery. 

"Fucking - burned - me!"  The kicks come between his roars, and I try and scrabble away, angry tears pricking at my eyes. That fury builds, low and restrained in my stomach. This is supposed to be the first day of something new. 

"The costume people!"  I yell, and his foot halts in mid air. I can see the cogs turning in his head. The costume people will see the bruises. His chest is heaving with his breaths. He turns, throws a roll of kitchen paper at me. I catch it, my head bowed, a shaking hand clutching my ribs. Adrenaline. Just adrenaline. He doesn't scare me. I'm Jim Moriarty. 

Craig stalks from the room. I clean up the broken mug pieces in silence, and mop up the tea. I make him a fresh flask, and leave it on the side with his sandwiches, and brush away angry tears like I'm denying their existence. 

You used to be someone, a voice in my head reminds me. When I was anonymous, at least I was someone. I was M - and they feared me. I was ruthless with my own men, my own employees - any hint of a vested interest elsewhere, and I'd be forced to make an example of them. Drugs, arms deals, paid hits...  I even got involved with rogue governments... I've killed men. I've killed more men than I can count. And yet Craig can pummel me into senselessness without any fear of rebuke.

 

Premieres. Awards. International reputation. My face on the pages of the world's media. A clean occupation that sees me living longer than my mid thirties, which is when the average crime boss gets bumped off, according to my own meticulous research. I can't count how many people have tried to kill me in the past. I'm on every damned hit list of every crime lord in London. I think I can survive Craig Mason.

To him, I'm just a common thief. A pretty thing in his twenties that he rescued from the perils of the streets. He knows nothing of what I used to be, and that's how it'll stay. I'll let him keep treating me this way until I get to where I need to be. And then I'll eviscerate him.

 I'm so close, now.

"The car's here, Craig." I call, my voice as sweet as always, breathing a touch laboured now as I gather my bag, loading my script inside at the kitchen table. My fingers are still shaking. There's blood spotted on my t shirt, a graze, but you can't see it if I zip up my jacket. 

When his fists first found the soft flesh of my sides, my face...I saw red. My promises to myself were gory and furious. I'd strangle him while he slept, I'd draw and quarter him, I'd remove his favourite appendages and shove them down his throat... Even now, every time, the fantasies keep me going. Brutal and maddeningly within reach.

Not long now. I'm making a name for myself. He may not know it, but Craig is manufacturing my future. The film today... it's the start of something new.

"Get in the fucking car, you stupid little prick."

"Coming!" I trill, hating that peppy sound that leaves my mouth, and head out to the idling black car. I force enthusiasm and excitement to replace the despair, the rage in my heart. 

I could end this at any time, I tell myself calmly. The pay off will be worth the pain. One day soon, I won't need to endure any more. One day soon, I'll be making my own money. Raking it in. Clean money, pure money, buy my own freedom. Security without the thug sized catch.

And then I'll come back for him, and snap him in two.

"Close the door then, you idiot."

One day soon.

"Sorry love. There we go. All set."

Soon. 

-


	2. The Star

When our driver pulls up outside the Essex studios, there's a smile on my face. This morning is forgotten already, and Craig's hand firmly grasps mine, that hungry excitement turning in my stomach. Today is the day my life changes.

 

"I'm sorry, baby."  Craig had purred on the way over, nuzzling close. "You know how I get when we start shooting."

"I know." I'd answered quietly, looking away and feigning that shyness. It's learned, this behaviour. It sickens me. This is how he likes it, after he beats me. He wants me coy and accepting, forgiving, like a kicked puppy. And I fall into it every time. At some point, I think I might have stopped pretending; stopped internally scoffing at his apologies. Accepted that of course, he loves me really. He doesn't mean it. 

 

The thought makes me feel sick. I try not to think about it.

 

"You know I love you. I didn't mean it."

"I know." I agree again, this time with a faux sweet smile, pleased that if nothing else, the onslaught has ended for today. "I love you too."

 

I don't. I don't love him. ...But sometimes I worry that I could. We're cut from the same cloth, Craig and I. We need each other.

 

"I'll show you your trailer."

 

He opens the car door, and leads me out, into the cool Autumn air. His hand is too tight on mine.

 

It changes today. It all changes, today.

 

\--

 

I look around the set with a hungry kind of awe, drinking it all in. The warehouse is huge, segmented off into different sets, each one the interior of a different room; a hospital ward, a bedroom, a shop floor... It's insane. The lights are being rigged above, backdrops and green screens set up, and crew members bustle around in headsets, eyes turning our way when we step inside. Golf carts ferry people around, and a woman in a headset hurries over to greet us, presenting Craig with a coffee. I want to let go of his hand, but he grips me tight, keeping me close like a leashed dog. 

 

Curious eyes find me, and I'm not surprised. An unknown actor, new to the industry and given a lead role in a top blockbuster? Must be fucking the casting director. Craig's vice grip is their proof. My cheeks burn - I feel paraded, a prize strumpet. 

 

"Good morning, Mr Mason. And Mr Moriarty, it must be!"  She's gushing, excited. I wonder if it's false, but I smile back. I learn later that her name is Eleanor.  "Can I show you your trailer, James?"

 

"That would be lovely, thank you."

 

She leads us back out of the warehouse and down a curling path to a row of caravans, each of them gleaming white and pristine, towering above us. One of them has my name on the door, and the sight is some sort of confirmation, a reminder of what all of this is for. My new reputation. My new life. I find the strength to pull my hand from Craig's, and head inside, Eleanor following. 

 

"Do you like it?"

 

It's immaculate inside, incredible - and I'm a man used to luxury. My life in the crime world saw me living in the best five star hotels, and my life with Craig is more of the same. But it's still impressive. A suede sofa spreads the length of one wall, and thick fluffy carpet covers the trailer floor. There's a mini fridge stocked to the brim, a microwave and a sink. A bathroom with a high tech shower, clean and marbled. A dressing table stands across from the sofa, the mirror framed with lights, cosmetics and hair products sitting below, with a spinning chair. I grin.

 

"I love it."

 

"I'm next door." Craig says, and the words are a threat if I ever heard one. He's standing behind me, watching my reaction to the place but I don't let him shake me. I get my own space, and that was more than I was expecting. 

 

"We can put you in together, if you'd like?" Eleanor suggests, turning to us, and my heart sinks, dread settling in my stomach. "We've got a double wide?"

 

"No." Craig answers before I can, and I'm relieved. To say anything would have secured a beating for later. I look over at him. He squeezes my shoulder, and it hurts. I hold his gaze. I'm in control here, I remind myself. "This is great. Thanks, Ellie."

 

She nods, and leads us back out, towards the set. Craig turns to me before we can reach the doors, and for a moment I worry that I've done something wrong.

"I have to go and prep the supporting artists."

 

"Oh.. Okay."

 

I'm relieved. I worried that I wouldn't be able to escape him on set, but it looks like he'll be even busier than me. I turn to go after Eleanor, but then Craig's mouth is on mine, hard and possessive and sloppy, and I pull away before I can help it, the disgust more of a reflex than anything else. Craig's eyes flash, and I hurry after Eleanor, shame coursing through me at the flicker of fear that settles in my chest. He doesn't scare me, I insist, scoffing at the very idea - and almost walk straight into John Honsson himself.

 

"Here he is. My star."  Honsson booms, and I laugh, shaking his hand. We've met before; once at a readthrough, and once at our initial meeting, in which Craig sat between us, singing my praises. I could hardly believe he was the same person. Honsson puts an arm around my shoulders, and that excitement bubbles in my stomach again. It's the same kind of adrenaline as before a kill - a hunger that needs to be satisfied, a blood lust. I want fame. I want success, reputation. 

 

"Where's that boyfriend of yours, then?"

"He's with the supporting artists."

Honsson is tall, spindly like a stick insect, with glasses that always seem to be askew. In the eyes of the Academy though - he's a genius. He nods, dismissing Eleanor and then guiding me through the set, explaining what everything is as we pass. 

"So we're going to start today with your scene with Lisa and Sebastian - Marion and Chester, page eighty. Is that alright with you, James? Been learning your lines?"

"All good. I'm off book." I say, eyeing the sets as we pass, everything so intricately designed; so real looking. The fake heart monitor in the hospital set flashes and beeps, attached to nobody. 

 

"Great stuff." Honsson checks his watch, then leads me to a door marked 'GREEN ROOM', a bouncer with a head set standing in front of it, who steps back for Honsson. "Thanks, Alex. Alex here will be one of your bodyguards whilst filming. He'll be split between you and Seb, but you just let me know if you want him full time, alright? We'll work something out."

I feel ashamed for a sudden spark of hope, the inkling that a bodyguard could be useful in my current situation. I think I'd rather die than let myself be 'rescued'. 

 

Alex looks like the type of men that I used to employ. Broad, stocky, serious. He shakes my hand, and then stands aside.  Honsson guides me into the green room.

 

 

\--

 

The green room is very plush - almost like another version of my trailer. Two women sit to one side, and I recognise them as our actresses, Lisa Kay, the 30 something diva playing my character's wife, and Geraldine Tweedy, the older lady that I've been keen to meet - one of the jewels of British film. She's been in everything, and in her late sixties, is a national icon. I hope she's as nice as she seems in interviews. Donald McGowan stands at a buffet cart at the back, a man of Geraldine's age, playing my lover's 'father'. I've heard he's a grumpy bastard on set from Craig, but then, I'd never want to take Craig's word on anybody as law. 

 

The actresses stop talking as we walk in, and I smile sheepishly, raising a hand in greeting. I met Lisa before, at the readthrough, where we became firm friends. 

"Geraldine, darling." She introduces, Honsson heading to the buffet table. "This is James - he's playing David."

"Oh, grand."  Geraldine sweeps over, and envelops me in a polite embrace, kissing me on both cheeks. I get a cloud of perfume, and smile, pleased when she looks me up and down appraisingly. 

"Lovely to meet you, Geraldine. I'm a big fan."

"Your first feature this, isn't it?"

"It is." I say, in an attempt at confidence, but my nerves must be obvious. Lisa gives me a squeeze, and then Donald glances over, raising a hand.

"You'll be fine. Wouldn't have cast you if you were shit."

 

I'm perhaps too quick to take that as a jibe. They must all know that I'm fucking the casting director. Word travels fast. Embarrassment burns in my chest, but I just take a seat, begin flipping through my script nonchalantly. Honsson heads back for the door, a plastic plate of food in his hands.

"Seb should be along in -"

He starts, but the door opens before he can get there, and Sebastian Moran stands in the doorway, taking off a pair of sunglasses with an amused smile. 

 

"Sorry I'm late, John."

 

\--


	3. The Start

I wished I'd had a chance to google him, because I wouldn't have been disappointed. Though somehow, I feel like I recognise him from somewhere. Almost like an old school friend, though of course that's impossible with my Irish roots. I must have seen him in magazines.

 

Sebastian stands at six feet, with a strong build - a triangular torso with biceps that are straining the t shirt he wears, a leather jacket over one arm. His clothes are expensively fitting, and I suddenly feel underdressed in my own t shirt and jeans. Craig doesn't believe in spending money on material things. At least, not material things for me. The money that I brought with me from the business is hidden beneath the mattress - and if I buy anything with it, the question of 'how?' will always arise. I won't lead him straight to the stash.

 

Sebastian has a crooked smile, and it's a moment before I realise that it's directed at me, blue eyes framed by thick lashes as he brushes his hair back with an impatient hand. He leans down, extending a hand.

"You must be James. I'm Seb."

 

I shake his hand, and his grip is warm and solid, his skin rough and soft at the same time. 

"Nice to meet you." I say, and he takes a seat next to me, collapsing into it like he's exhausted, draping an arm over the back of my chair. Lisa and Geraldine share a conspiratorial look, amused. 

 

Honsson rolls his eyes, and disappears, calling back to us. 

"On set in ten, you lot."

 

The door closes behind him, and then Seb is looking at me, those blue eyes cataloguing me. 

 

"Moriarty, isn't it? Got to say, haven't heard your name before. You been doing indie stuff?"

 

He's sitting too close to me, his legs spread out so that I'm forced to sit bunched together, his arm still over the back of the sofa. Is this what they call manspreading? Asserting dominance? The crime boss within me bristles, and I fold my arms over my chest, trying to win back a little space with my elbows.

"Yeah." I lie, shrugging. "Got a few things in the works, you know."

 

"Oh yeah."  A pause, and then his mouth quirks at the corner. "...Heard you're good friends with Craig Mason."

I can't hold his eye, and look away, humiliated rage flaring in my chest. Of course he knows. They all know. They must think I'm a fucking fraud. Which in some ways, I suppose I am. I never went to school for this, never auditioned. 

 

Lisa clears her throat, and stands, holding out a hand to Geraldine. "...Shall we go and have our make-up touched up, sweet?"

 

They're both in full period drama regalia already, wigs and all. I realise with a start that Sebastian and I need to get changed. I glance around. Donald's gone after Honsson already, and when Geraldine and Lisa sweep out of the green room, only Sebastian and I are left.

 

"...We should get to costume." I say and stand, worried about being late. Ten minutes, Honsson said.

 

Sebastian laughs and stretches. His t shirt rides up, showing a strip of tanned stomach, ridged with muscle. 

 

"Relax. Costume'll come and get us. Gez and Lisa have the first scene, so we've got ages yet."

 

"Oh."

 

I stand a little aimlessly, not wanting to sit back down when he's all spread out like that. A matter of principle. He's watching me, and sits up after a moment, those blue eyes narrowed. 

 

"...Can you even act?"

 

The question is a blunt one, and anger flares in my stomach. He's so full of himself. So sure that I just slept my way into this. I'm tired of being a doormat.

"Fuck you."

 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I've turned to stalk out of the room, halfway through the door when he catches me, a hand on my elbow. 

 

"I wasn't saying -"

"I know exactly what you were saying."  I push him off, and Alex gives us a look, checking that we're okay. Sebastian pulls me back into the green room. "Get off."

 

"I just mean, I haven't seen you in anything -"

 

"And I mean, _fuck_  you."

I repeat, and throw his hand off me. I storm out of the room, and this time pretty boy doesn't follow, letting me march my way through the set - before realising that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. Craig looks up from a group of extras, catching my eye, and I look away quickly, feeling his gaze follow me as I search for where I need to be. Crew members eye me curiously, but nobody approaches, and I feel frustrated in my anger, hating this already. So much for a new start. I'm being judged before I even set foot on set. Fuck Sebastian Moran. Fuck Craig, fuck them all to hell. Maybe I'm not meant for -

 

"Hey."

 

Sebastian stands in front of me suddenly, his expression apologetic. I stop walking, but just glower at him, fingers curled into unhappy fists at my sides. 

 

"Costume, right?" He offers helpfully, and I just purse my lips, looking away. This day has been a fucking disaster so far, and my optimism has well and truly died. "This way."

 

\--

 

I don't get a chance to say another word to Sebastian after our shaky start - the costume team gush over us when we arrive, dragging us into their quarters and showing us a range of costumes - Victorian style, for our era, wigs and bibs and tights and fancy tunics. I nod along with forced enthusiasm, unable to muster any for real now, still irritated after the terrible start to the day. I'm going to have to prove my acting chops, and the thought scares me. Suppose I can't actually act for the cameras? Suppose Honsson really is just doing this as a favour for Craig? He surely couldn't cast someone fucking awful? Put his film at risk?

 

Sebastian is complimentary, trying on bits and pieces as the costumiers fawn over him - glancing at me every now and then as I sit stiff in the corner and hold my cup of tea. 

  
"Excuse me a second."

 

He heads over, sits down next to me, and holds out a hand. I look at it, dumbly. 

 

"Sebastian Moran. Actor, cynic and not a total arsehole, despite what my terrible first impression might have looked like."

 

In spite of myself, the corner of my mouth tugs up a little. I shake that hand, and he seems to relax a little, relieved.

"Thank fuck for that. I really didn't mean to offend you, you know."

 

"...I thought you... meant something else."

 

"Sorry."

 

"No... my fault." I purse my lips. "...I think a lot of people assume that Craig got me the role."

"That sucks."

"No. They're right. He did."

 

Sebastian blinks for a moment, and then laughs. Surprised, I'm quiet - and then I laugh too, the sound breaking the tension a little. He nudges my shoulder with his own.

"Fair enough, then."

"But I'm going to kill it."  Bad choice of words, I think, considering my history. But I'm determined.  "The role. I'm going to be the best fucking David you've ever seen."

He grins, and there's something sharklike about that smile. He winks. "I don't doubt it."

 

A flamboyant costumier interrupts our conversation, holding our two outfits out with a flourish.  "You need to get changed, ready for make-up." He announces, and Sebastian just stands with a shrug, glancing at me. To my surprise, he drags his t shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless, and holds out a hand for the tunic. 

"You don't waste any time." I drawl, rather appreciating the view and he grins.

  
"Nothing to be ashamed of, have I?"

"...Definitely not." I agree, and he raises an eyebrow at me. I look away again, biting back a smile and find the costumier watching me expectantly, seemingly expecting the same behaviour. I blink back, dumbstruck.

"Wait... I'm not... I can't... Can I go back to my trailer?"

The man sighs theatrically, and then points me to a dressing room. "There's no time. In there."

 

"You shy?" Sebastian calls after me as I disappear into the room, and I just call an amused; "Fuck off," feeling much better now than I did five minutes ago. Maybe I did judge him too quickly. Maybe it's the nerves, the need for this to go well. I can't have it all be for nothing. Letting my business fester, enduring everything Craig dishes out... It has to work. I'll make this work.

 

I strip off, and then pause when I'm undressed, running my fingers over the material of that tunic. The stark lights of the dressing room make the bruises stand out, purple and yellow, old and new, ugly as they butterfly across the skin of my torso. 

 

I will make this work.

 

\--

 


	4. The Scene

When I leave the dressing room, Sebastian is fully dressed, and the costumiers tug and pick at me much to my annoyance, getting my Victorian costume into order, righting the little details. Sebastian looks immaculate, fantastic, and he hasn't even been into make-up yet. They steer us there, pushing us back out into the warehouse and into the next pod along, a young woman exclaiming and pulling me close, examining my face. 

 

"You must be James."

 

"Yes." I lean away from her slightly, and Sebastian chuckles. She guides us each into a seat in front of a mirror, and calls over the make-up artist, a bubbly older woman named Bev, who starts straight away on Sebastian. Chelsea, the girl examining my face, starts rubbing moisturiser into my skin. 

 

"I heard you know Craig Mason." Chelsea says, with a conspiratorial wink, and I look away again, frustrated. Must I have this all day? Is this how it's going to be?

 

"He's a talented actor." Sebastian pipes up, and Chelsea raises her eyebrows in surprise, before nodding, seemingly satisfied with that appraisal. She falls silent, and I risk a glance at Sebastian, nodding infinitesimally in thanks. He grins - until Bev slaps his check, and tells him to relax his face. 

 

I scowl when Chelsea does the same to me, and Sebastian just laughs.

"You'll get used to it. Being pulled around like a rag doll, forced into place. It's all about looking good."

 

"Stay still, Sebastian, I swear to God!"

"Calm down, Bev. Jesus."

"You're on set in five minutes, and Honsson'll have my neck."

'See?' Sebastian mouths at me as Bev manhandles his head into place, brushing some kind of powder across his forehead and cheeks. I laugh in spite of myself, a touch more at ease now, after the fiasco of earlier.

 

\--

 

By the time we head onto the set, I have to admit that we both look immaculate. Impressive.

 

We're head to toe in our Victorian get-up, tunics and tights and buckle shoes, though Honsson has chosen to remove the white wigs that we were originally given, deciding instead on our natural - well, elaborately styled to look 'natural' hair. My face feels thick with make-up, but when I look in the mirror, I just seem like a more angled version of myself... cleaner, more defined somehow. Sebastian - or pretty boy, as I've taken to thinking of him mock scathingly - looks amazing, of course.

 

We receive a mini smattering of applause when we join Honsson on set, and I smirk, glancing at Sebastian who takes a mock bow.  Craig leans against the edge of a backdrop, watching me with sharp eyes, and I avoid his gaze, enjoying myself too much to think about going home with him later. The nerves have all but abated now - I'm dressed up, I'm ready to go, determined to prove myself to those who doubt me. To those who still eye me dubiously, and glance at Craig in the next second.

 

This scene is between Sebastian, Lisa and I. We go over our lines, huddled in a group as the crew set up the last few details of the shot. We're in an artful Victorian living room, complete with crackling fire, dim light manufactured behind the windows... it looks incredibly real, if not for the missing ceiling and one wall, and the camera crew poised at the edge. It's the scene where David - me - introduces his wife Marion - Lisa - to a friend of his; unbeknownst to Marion, his gay love interest, Chester. Played by Sebastian, of course. The film is an explosive one, eagerly awaited by critics all over the country, exploring the concept of homosexuality in the Victorian age. It's supposedly based on a true story, and when I first read the script, I was captivated by David's character - and the terrible fate that befalls him towards the end. It is, by all accounts, both a tragic love story and an illustration of a prejudiced era. And easily capable of making my name.

 

This scene is one of my favourites - one of the comic moments of the film, as serious as it is. The lines are laden with flirtation and innuendo, with Marion clueless while our characters pine for one another. Sebastian and I smirk even as we read through the lines, and soon, Honsson calls for quiet, the camera turns on, and he's counting us down to a take. I take my position at the doorway, Lisa poised delicately on a chair, turning the pages of a book.

 

I can feel Craig watching me amongst the crew.

"And... ACTION."

 

Dead silence. David turns to handsome Chester with a reluctant, I-can't-believe-you're-making-me-do-this smile. 

"Marion, my darling." He booms uncomfortably, striding across the room to his wife, and standing before her. "I'd like to introduce you to Chester Marriott."

 

"Oh, Mr Marriott." Marion stands smoothly, glides from the chair with a hand extended. "It's a joy. My husband has told me so much about you."

Chester kisses Marion's hand, a glimmer of something in his eyes. "...Not too much, I rather hope."

"All good things, I assure you."

 

David and Chester share a look, as Marion turns her back to ring the bell for tea. It's a heated look, full of unspoken promises. David turns away, guilty. 

 

"My darling. Chester here was inquiring after your tailor's services. It's why I brought him here, besides, of course, to make your acquaintance."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes." Chester murmurs, a smile on his face, and his eyes on David. "...Your husband's britches are quite unique in texture. I'm most keen to get my hands on them."

 

"He'd like to purchase a pair." David's interjection is quicker, just a touch strained. Marion turns, and sets that bell back down. She smiles, saccharine.

"I'm surprised my husband offered to bring you home, Mr Marriott. He's often most secretive about his clothing. He won't enjoy another man having the same britches."

 

"Oh, come now David. Can't you make an exception for me?"  Chester's voice is low, and he raises an eyebrow. David laughs, but he looks away, sneaks a glance at Marion. 

 

The tea trolley arrives, and David pinches a wad of Chester's jacket in reprimand. Chester's resultant look is triumphant. Daring.

 

The scene goes on.

 

\--

 

"Amazing! Amazing!"

Honsson repeats, after we've done six takes of the scene from different angles. He slaps the script across the palm of his hand, and I think I see relief in his expression when he addresses us.

"That was fucking good. We're making magic here, boys. You've got a nice bit of chemistry, there."

Sebastian and I grin at each other, exultant. I know it's not easy. I know this could have gone terribly. A lack of chemistry, or bad acting on my part, or just... first day nerves, could have ruined everything. But as it is... it wasn't half bad. And I'm having a good time. I'm actually enjoying myself, enjoying work, for the first time in a long time. And nobody had to die. 

 

"Well done, you." Lisa says, giving me a squeeze as she heads off to get a quick lunch, the next scene between her and Donald. She's electric as Marion - striking the balance between oblivion and 'does she know?'. Sebastian slaps me on the back, and then cocks his head for the door.

"I'd say we've got about an hour. You going back to your trailer?"

I glance at Honsson, but he nods, checking his watch.  

"Get some food, be back here at two. We're doing the later scene - when Marion goes downstairs."

"Got it, boss."

 

Honsson laughs, salutes me and then heads back to set himself, Eleanor shadowing him with a sandwich.

 

Sebastian and I head off towards our trailers, and optimism flares in my chest. This isn't so bad. Not so bad at all. 

 

 

"So, did you do stage plays before this?" He asks me, slipping back on his Raybans and sipping from a Starbucks, a comical picture in his Victorian get-up. I take a long drink from a coffee cup myself, and shake my head.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Come on. You can't tell me that you don't have a history. Not with a scene like that."  
  
I laugh, and we emerge into the bright Autumn day, a chill in the air. I blow on my drink.   
  
"I don't know... I'm used to putting on a show, I suppose. I used to work in... My last job involved a lot of..."  
  
I try and phrase it in the right way, but I can't quite figure out the words. Sebastian watches me, listening intently.It's flattering. I haven't had anyone pay this much attention since I was giving orders, and even then, it was mostly just my voice into a handset. At least.. towards the end. No blue eyes fixed on mine, darting occasionally to my mouth. No raised eyebrow of interest, or half smile. I shake my head.

 

"...Pretending?" Sebastian suggests, and I shrug and nod. Close enough. My personas as a criminal boss were mainly in aid of secretly checking up on the men who worked for me - or duping possible clients or targets, tricking them into trusting me. I assumed I'd somehow lost the knack, but that scene today proves that I've still got it. At least, I hope so. I'm fucking proud of myself. 

 

"Close enough."  
  
"Were you in sales, or something?"

 

I laugh at that, and shake my head, but Sebastian laughs, earnest.

 

"You can laugh, but you'd be surprised how many salesmen we got at stage school. It's performing, performing, performing."

 

"Hook the client, make the sale. Be their best friend. Not always what I was going for..."

 

I remember once, having a police officer tail me back to my base. It was one of my first big jobs, and the man was a little older, perhaps about to retire. He was wry - he'd used his head to track me, and I was impressed. He'd sold himself to me; I'd seen his skill, I'd seen him chase me down, even if I had him at gunpoint, and so far out of his depth it was laughable. We'd spoken in an abandoned office block, me in my suit, and him in his police uniform, and I'd asked him if he'd like to make more money than he'd ever dreamed of. 

 

He pretended to be interested long enough to get out his gun, and point it between my eyes. And then he told me that he was already working for my rival. Burch. 

 

I'd say it was that moment that made me decide that acting was a worthwhile skill to have. Pretending. Misleading. You can be whoever you want to be. You can undo a lifetime of wrongs. Spend your life faking it. 

 

I'm just lucky I had my men behind me to make cheese out of Mr Policeman.  
  
"Go on then. What did you do to make you such a talented thespian?"  
  
Sebastian says the words like he's mocking himself, flicking up a hand to his forehead, and I laugh again - before I realise that he's waiting for my answer. It's not one that I can give him. To my relief, we've reached my trailer, and I gesture with my coffee cup.   
  
"Better get inside. I have a few calls to make before our next scene."  
  
"Oh, right."  Sebastian paused, and that easy smile comes back. He oozes self-comfort. I want to crawl inside him, make a home. I've never been comfortable in my own skin - it's perturbing to meet someone so... agreeable. Contented.  "... Was going to ask if you fancied coming to Grace's with me."  
  
"...Where?"  
  
"It's a cafe around the corner. Won't be able to go there after these first few days, once the paps find out where we're based."  
  
"Don't they have catering here?"  
  
"Don't want to break the rules?" Sebastian shoots back, and I arch an eyebrow. A moment later, and I've ducked inside my trailer and grabbed my jacket. "Let's go."

 

Sebastian is a terrible influence. He just grins.  
  


\--

 


	5. The Hatred

By the time we make it back, there are only minutes to spare until our scene, and costume and make-up are going crazy. Sebastian and I had both left the site in our costumes, and as a consequence, there's mud flecked on one side of Sebastian's shoe, a sauce stain up one of my sleeves, and our make-up needs to be redone after enduring the icy weather.

 

I grimace throughout the pulling and prodding, the puffing and buttoning and plucking and bronzing in silence, Sebastian beside me and going through the same. We had bacon sandwiches at Grace's, Sebastian signing autographs for the girls behind the counter - making me suspicious that he's more famous than he lets on. Of course, neither of them knew me - but I don't mind. One day, they'll kick themselves that they didn't ask me to sign a napkin. 

 

"I can feel it." I'd revealed to Sebastian, an ambitious drawl, taking another bite of my sandwich. "This film's going to make me."

 

"Oh yeah?"  He'd teased, "You think you're that good, do you?"  
  
"I'm the breakout star of a John Honsson film. Of course I'm that good."  
  
He'd just laughed, tucking into his food. I'd asked him about his acting jobs. Before this, he'd filmed a romantic comedy in Ireland. Before that, he'd been the lead in a television drama filming all over the world - and next year, he's due to film the third series. He told me that he almost didn't take this film, that Honsson had to offer a lot of money to secure him, but that in the end, it was the script that did it.   
  
"Isn't it good?"  
  
"It's a rare find, I'll give you that. You're lucky to have Mason. A thousand new actors would have killed for this role."  
  
I'd stilled at that, and he'd seemed to sense that it was the wrong thing to say.We'd chewed in silence for a while, until he said quietly;  
  
"Put my foot in it again, haven't I?"

 

I'd rolled my eyes, and brushed crumbs from my hands. "...No. You're right. I'm lucky to have him."  
  
The words felt wrong coming from my mouth. I remembered with dread that I'd be going home tonight.

 

\--

 

"If the world will conspire to keep us apart, then I will endeavour to conquer the world, if it keeps me by your side."

 

Sebastian's voice is low and throaty with emotion, and his warm hand cups my cheek, my eyes wet. Except, of course - that I am not me, and he is not Sebastian. He's Chester, talking to David, promising him a life that David knows he can't give. This is soppy, yucky, sickening emotion - and I've read the script. But whatever. I signed up for this.

 

David glances heavenward, to where he knows his wife may appear at the window at any second. 

 

"Chester," He says urgently, pleading. "I beg of you, do not do this."  
  
"If you were mine, David... If I could hold you in my arms..."  
  
David steps away, and that hand slips from his cheek. "It's a dream, Chester. Just a dream." He turns his back. "I have a wife. One day, we will have a family. A legacy."

 

A long pause. Chester's voice is determined.  "I will not lose you."

 

"I should never have brought you here."

 

 "You thought that my meeting your wife might discourage me. But you are wrong. I can't be without you, David."  
  
"Chester, please."  
  
"And your wife... she deserves a better man."  
  
David's expression is hurt - shocked. Chester walks away, scorned, his frock coat whipping the air behind him. David takes two steps after him - and then looks back at the window. No. He must stay.

 

\--

 

"Beautiful! Absolutely stellar, boys."

 

Honsson booms, and Sebastian and I head over, the crew already dismantling the set. That was the last take, and I feel exhausted now. It must be about six o clock. We've done this scene from several angles, and on two different sets, Honsson not sure which he liked the most. He tugs us both into a rough embrace, and we smear make-up on his black fleece. Cast and crew alike clamour for his attention - but he fixes his gaze on us, looking between us.   
  
"We got any questions? We good to go for tomorrow? Get to go back to chronological order for a bit."  
  
"...Why were we filming out of order?" I ask bemusedly, before Sebastian smiles - and I realise I've made a rookie error. Betrayed myself as a newbie. Honnson just smiles.   
  
"So, we got a custom built set for the court house, where David and Chester work. It's ready tomorrow, but it's a hefty thing, so we're going to film as many as the meet and court house scenes as possible, then. Might be a little weird for you, going back to square one after all the emotional work..."  
  
"No. It's fine. I can do it."  
  
"Atta boy. Get on home, right? Get some rest. Tomorrow you get to fall in love."  
  
He slaps us both on the back, and then turns to his waiting audience, Eleanor immediately bombarding him with questions and a cup of coffee.

 

"Falling in love." Sebastian sighs heavily as we walk back to costume to get changed. "The worst part of the film."  
  
I look at him sideways, surprised as the costumiers take off our outer accessories piece by piece. "Surely the best part?"  
  
He begins stripping off, and I head into the changing room to take off my clothes.   
  
"No." Sebastian calls, "It's so finnicky. The wrong look, the wrong inflection on a word and you've shot it. John's very particular about how he likes things, especially at the start. Doesn't matter so much in the bits we shot today. The relationship's already established."  
  
I head out again, dressed in my jeans and t shirt, the Victorian clothes immediately swept from my grasp by the costumiers.  
  
"Oh, I see. You need to make the audience fall in love with the characters."  
  
"Eeeexactly."   Sebastian is still half naked, pulling a pair of jeans over a firm, clothed arse. I look way, and he turns around, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Admiring the view, David?"  
  
"Not at all, Chester. Did they have Calvin Kleins in the 1800s?"

 

Sebastian laughs, and a minute later he's dressed, and we push back through the costume door and out into the warehouse. Craig stands, arms folded across a bulky chest, waiting for me. We both stop. With Sebastian, it's a slowed walk, calm and comfortable. With me, it's a sudden faltering, a sinking in my chest. My eyes roam over his expression, trying to figure out his mood. Whether I'm in trouble or not. I can't be, surely. I tried my damnedest today, not to show him up. To be the best actor I could be. To earn him points as a casting director.

 

Craig's presence has stopped our conversation in its tracks, and I turn to Sebastian slowly, suddenly awkward between us.   
  
"...I'll see you tomorrow then, I suppose."  
  
"Yeah." He's still got that easygoing smile, though there's a slight wrinkle in his brow - confused at the stiltedness of my words. "Have a good night, alright?"

 

I smile, and then head to Craig, and he puts a heavy arm around my shoulders. He gives me a squeeze, guiding me away from Sebastian, who watches us go, hands in his back pockets. 

 

"You did good today." Craig tells me as we walk, and I manage a smile. I did. I know I did. "Come a long way since I pulled you out the gutter, haven't you pet?"  
  
That bit makes me purse my lips. Anger ripples. "Yes." I say at last, carefully - only because I know he hates it when I don't answer him. A crew member walks past, slaps Craig on the shoulder, and waves at me. I wave back, and then we're outside, and Craig is pushing me into an idling car. I take a last, almost longing look for Alex, the bodyguard - but he wouldn't come with us anyway, and besides... I'm fine. I don't need help. 

 

I'm Jim Moriarty.

 

"Don't forget that." Craig says, simply, fastening his seatbelt. "Driver, partition please."  
  
A trickle of dead fills my chest as the partition slides up slowly, the engine starting and the car slowly pulling away from the warehouse. Heading for home.

 

"Craig," I reason, my inner crime boss deploring the slight begging note in my voice. "Craig, I did it for you. I tried my best..."

 

"What aren't you going to forget, pet?"  
  
He asks me, and there's a warning in those lilting words. I swallow back the indignant fury in my stomach that mingles with fear. I hate this man. I hate that he has to take ownership of this day, and ruin it.

 

"...That I came from the gutter."  
  
"That who got you from the gutter?" He sings.  A hand fists in my hair, and I wince, and then tell myself that I didn't.

 

"...You did."  
  
"And who could put you right back there, actor friends or not?"

 

"...You can."  A beat, and then; "Craig, let go."  He's holding so tightly that my eyes are watering. But he just shoves my head down towards his lap, and his free hand shuffles, fidgeting with his zip. I close my eyes, mortified. But at least he's given me the privacy of the partition.  
  
"...Don't forget who owns you."  
  


I used to say that to people. I used to threaten and steal, and own, I recall as I screw my eyes shut and take him into my mouth. The happiness of the day, the exciting new starts and firm friends are all fading away in the tight grasp of Craig's fist in my hair. He's ruined it. He's ruining it with his grimy hands, his filthy, clammy touch.

 

Who am I? I think abstractly, numb as I find a different place. Somewhere to hide away, inside my head. Who am I, now?

 

\--

 

The next day, I'm up before he is. 

 

I wake with a new kind of resolve. I'm not a puppet. He's given me a taste of the good life, and I don't want him to taint it. Honsson needs me now. We might only have done two scenes, but this could be something great. Something good. I know the director sees that. I've got chemistry with his lead star. 

 

Last night was awful. After the car journey home, I tried to go to bed, exhausted from the day but Craig had other ideas. He had six friends come around, had me play the dutiful wife, making them all drinks and snacks and ferrying them to and from the living room. I'd thought that at least it meant he couldn't touch me, but of course it didn't. I spilt crisps on the kitchen floor, and he'd slapped me. Not one of his worse assaults, but still.. I've been icing the mark ever since, anxious that it'll bruise, that the skin will remain reddened for the morning. 

 

Who am I?

 

I go straight in the shower when I wake up, wash every scrap of him from my skin. I dress quickly in whatever I can find - jeans and a jumper, keen to get out of there, to get to set, to find camaraderie and some kind of normalcy. I watch him in bed, cursing every inch of him, the fucking... bastard. I think about peeling off his skin. He couldn't let me be happy; enjoy that first day. But I won't give him the chance to ruin another.

 

He'll kill me for it later, but... I call for the car from his phone. He's still asleep when I slip out of the back door, and climb into the vehicle without him, heading to Essex.

 


	6. The Denial

When I reach the warehouse and finally hurry inside, the crew members milling around look at me like I'm crazy, and I realise that I'm at least an hour early for my call time. I back out, grabbing a newspaper and a croissant or two from the buffet trolley and heading for the trailer, angry with myself for the heavy thud of my heart in my chest. I know I'm thinking about Craig waking up and finding me gone. Thinking about the consequences. 

 

But he can't get me here. Not with so many people around. He can't get me here. 

 

_Who are you? You used to kill people. You used to be someone._

 

I shove most of a croissant in my mouth, as if it might shut up the nagging voices in my head. I make myself a cup of coffee in my kitchenette with clumsy fingers, and make a mental note to be out of here within the hour. If he comes after me, the last place I want to be is alone in my trailer.

 

I decide to do my damnedest to relax, and sit down in front of my dressing table to read the newspaper, buttery pastry melting on my tongue. Political scandals distract me for a little while, an upcoming election and an MP found in bed with two men. The celebrity news doesn't interest me, but I devour it anyway; a new check-in to rehab, two new babies and a breakdown. I take in a human interest story about a dog calling an ambulance for his ailing owner with scathing eyes, and by the time I finish the croissant, I'm a touch more relaxed. 

 

Until I see it. 

 

It's only the merest glimmer of a story - just a few lines, tucked beside the dog story, but it makes my mouth twist in distaste, my stomach turn in my unease.  CRIMINAL MASTERMIND NEW LEADS, reads the short title, and I read with a tense finger pressed at the first line. I read the short lines once, and then again, as if they might tell me something else the  second time. 'New Scotland Yard are pursuing new leads pertaining to the identity and whereabouts of 'M', the anonymous crime lord rumoured to be behind a spate of historic violent murders and organised crime in North London.'

 

They can't know anything. They're just trying to unnerve me. 

 

That croissant is repeating on me as I pace in the trailer, reading over my lines.  I know that it's nothing... but suppose it is? Suppose I've been tracked somehow, betrayed.  Suppose I'll be recognised somehow, despite being so careful, the moment the publicity for this film starts up?

 

A rapping on my trailer door makes me leap a damned foot into the air, and I look at the fuzzed shape behind the door. I'm not in the mood for company, and say nothing. I'll pretend I'm not here. 

 

"James? It's Seb."

 

My gaze flicks to the newspaper on the floor, open to that page. I pick it up, shove it in the wastepaper basket. Then I stand still, watching myself in the mirror and waiting for him to leave.  
  
"...Uh... I just saw you moving, so..."  Seb laughed, seemingly confused. "I just brought you some breakfast. They said you got here early, so... It's fine. I'll see you later, okay?"

 

I open the door. Sebastian blinks at me a few times, and then asks;  "...Are you okay?"  
  
"Don't I look okay?"

 

I shoot back, a drawl. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and silently offers up the tray of treats he's brought - fruits, a rack of toast, two small bottles of orange juice.   
  
"Can we eat on set?"

 

I ask, and he shrugs, nonplussed. "...Yeah. Whatever you want."  I close the door, heading down the steps, not wanting to be alone in there anymore. Craig will be here soon. 

 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Seb asks me, and I nod, arms around myself. It's a cold morning - a chill in the air.   
  
"Just didn't sleep well."

 

"Nervous?" He teases, and that smile cracks my own. Just a touch. I roll my eyes.   
  
"You wish."  
  
He looks good today. His hair falls over his eyes just slightly, and a long sleeved jumper hugs his torso. He wears his jeans with worn black boots, his style so at odds with the Victorian clothes we'll be putting on soon. But it suits him. He's got stubble today, and no doubt the make up girls will yell at him for it, but I like it. It adds a little something extra to the tan skin.

 

"Have I got something on my face?"

 

I laugh and steal a bottle of juice from his tray. We head into the warehouse. "Don't flatter yourself. I was daydreaming."  
  
"About me? Well, I _am_  flattered, actually.."  
  
I smack him with the bottle, and he laughs again, and suddenly my day is much improved. I'm at ease again, enjoying myself, the worries momentarily pushed away. We head towards the green room, passing a disgruntled looking Donald and Geraldine in costume. Lisa's not due in until later on today. Sebastian throws himself down in a chintz armchair, and I sit down beside him, uncapping the juice.

 

"Have you tried lavender oil?" He asks after a minute, watching me, and I glance over, confused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"To get to sleep. It was probably just nerves.  
  
"It wasn't nerves." I scoff, rolling my eyes.

 

"M'just saying. Happens to everyone. Even me"

 

"Oh, even you? Even the great Seb Moran?"  
  
He laughs, and helps himself to an orange juice too. "That's not what I meant. I mean, I still get nervous. And I've been acting for longer."

 

"Wasn't nerves."  
  
"It's hard, your first film. Demanding. Nobody can blame you if you-"  
  
"We've known each other a day." I snap, exasperated, "You don't know me."  
  
His hand stills in mid air, almost around the juice, and then falls, a frown on his lips. I immediately regret it - taking out my stress on Sebastian. He's one of the only bright points, so far. I can't afford to lose that.   
  
"...I'm sorry."  
  
"It's alright. You didn't sleep."

 

"No... I'm being a dick."   I  push my hands into my eyes, rub them wearily, and then look back at him, frowning. "I'm sorry. Can we start again?"

 

"Lavender oil." Sebastian says again, smiling this time, and punches me lightly in the shoulder. The words are gentle. "Trust a pro."  
  
"Lavender oil." I agree, and roll my eyes. Sebastian laughs, and then the door opens, and Craig stands there, his knuckles white on the doorknob. His eyes are dark, wide-set in his face, his jaw taut. I still and he glares at me, before his gaze shifts reluctantly to Sebastian beside me. A witness.  
  
"James." He speaks deceivingly calmly, and it puts something cold into my veins. I pointedly ignore the sudden tight unease in my chest. "Can I have a word?"  
  
"We've got to go to costume." I say, the words jumbling out of my mouth all at once. I feel ashamed of how I sound. There's no disguising it, even when I laugh, a nervous little giggle that betrays me, nothing like my own voice.  _Who are you?_  My old self demands furiously. He doesn't control you.

 

"I won't take a second."  It's a growl. A warning, though Craig smiles kindly. It doesn't reach his eyes. I glance at Sebastian, and his eyes are narrowed just slightly, seemingly sure that something is going on here... but he's not sure what. 

 

"We should really get to costume." Seb says at last, the words slow. I realise all at once that he's saving me. The thought is mortifying. He stands carefully, looks down at me. His words are nonchalant, but the meaning behind them is anything but. "...Coming, James?"

 

A split second of thought is all that I need, and then I'm rising smoothly,  following Sebastian through the door. 

 

"...Yeah."

 

Craig stands stock still, his hand still clenched around the doorknob. My heart thuds, but he doesn't move, doesn't make a grab for me. He just lets me go, Sebastian looking at me peculiarly as we head for the costume room. I shoot him a short smile in thanks, and then look away. I don't say anything else.

 

He's going to kill me when we get home.

 

\--

 

I don't speak to Sebastian while we put our costumes on, more or less the same as yesterday, but in different colours. I know he's dying to ask questions, because the silence is thick with them. I can practically hear them floating through his head, but to his credit, he doesn't ask a single one. Perhaps he's hoping that I'll just volunteer the information... but I think I'd rather die than make a confession of weakness. I don't need help, I don't need rescuing. 

 

I wonder idly if I can somehow stay here tonight. Sleep in my trailer, perhaps.

 

The day I kill Craig is going to be the happiest day of my life. 

 

"Did you walk into a post?" Chelsea asks me brusquely while she rubs moisturiser into my face, fingers ghosting over my slapped cheek. I scramble from the chair to look in the mirror.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Your cheek's swollen. You can barely see it."

 

I frown at myself, looking at each side of my face. I can't see it. To me, the ice worked. I purse my lips together flat, and Chelsea ushers me back into the seat.  
  
"It's fine. Just be more careful, yeah? Honnson'll blow a gasket."

 

I give a small smile. When I glance over at Sebastian, he's watching me, and there's judgement in those blue eyes. Pieces clicking together. I hold his gaze for a moment, and he just watches me as Bev and Chelsea work on us, a silent conversation. He's wondering if he's right. And I won't confirm. 

 

\--

 

Honsson takes us aside before the scene, his arms folded.  His expression is solemn.   
  
"...I've heard a few reports of you two not having your heads in the game, today."

 

We're dressed up again - make up, hair, Victorian costumes. Donald waits on set for us, ready for his scene as Chester's father, the Judge. 

 

"I need, need, need you to be on this today, boys. The first scenes are the most important. Sebastian - I know I don't need to tell you that."

 

"I just need a minute." I say, and Eleanor heads over, passes us both bottles of water. I take a long sip, willing it all out of my head. Make-up must have told on us, the rats. M. Craig. Sebastian knowing...whatever he thinks he knows. I try and put it all away. Bring out David, instead. David and Chester.   
  
"We'll be ready." Seb says confidently, and puts an arm around me, giving my shoulders a squeeze. Somehow, the gesture is calming. Reassuring. I nod, and screw the cap back on that water. Honsson claps his hands together.  
  
"Fantastic. We're on in two. Places, people."

 

I bend down to put the water bottle down, at the same time that Sebastian leans down to put down his script. He catches my eye. He holds my gaze for a moment. And then he just smiles - and that reassurance is there again. Whatever this is, he's putting it away too, for my own good. He slaps me on the back, and then we head to set together, a silent understanding reached. 

 

I can still feel Craig's eyes on me.

 

\--

 

We power through the two main scenes of the day - both mine and Sebastian's, and I can almost feel Honsson's relief in the air. David and Chester's first meeting, with Donald - playing Judge Albert, Chester's father - in the background, seemingly oblivious to his son's new 'friend'. It's a sweet scene - dropped quill pens and sudden interests, David vanishing just as quickly as he arrives. Chester's interest, the need to follow him, to find out more.. 

 

By the time we finish the second scene - Chester seeing David in the court house lobby the following day - it's gone lunch time, and the whole cast and crew are starving. But Honsson was so close to getting his perfect shot, and from his exultant shout of 'CUT' on that last take, I'd say he got it. Chester catches David by the elbow, asks him where he went, and why he disappeared the day before. David explains his business at the court; he's working as a clerk. The pair joke and flirt - though it ends with the devastating realisation that David has a wife. Chester demands to see him again. David asks why. Chester can't think of a good enough reason.

 

Honsson ended the scene there, liking the contrast - the fact that Chester can't explain why. That he doesn't fully realise himself, yet.

 

We crash out in the green room for a late lunch, and I feel wasteful for not using my trailer - but then again... I don't want to be in there at the moment. Not with the newspaper stuffed in the bin, and Craig waiting for any opportunity to get me alone. Donald sits between Sebastian and I, seemingly having warmed to me now. He goes on and on about his first films, about how scared he was, about how terrible an actor he was. I think he's trying to make me feel better - and he means well. It distracts me, keeps me from looking at Sebastian - who even now, watches me a little too closely.

 

At one point, Craig walks past the door. His eyes find Sebastian, and it's almost a mirror image of this morning. Neither man says a thing. And then Craig walks on, slamming his shoulder into a supporting artist on the way, and sending her colliding into a passing rack of frock coats. Sebastian and I help the poor girl up, and she looks after Craig bemusedly. Sebastian just looks at me.  
  
"Don't." I say quietly, a warning, and he drops it. Drops whatever he was about to say. "...Just don't. Please."

 

\--

 

It's getting on for three o clock by the time we finally get back to set; and there's just time for one more scene. This time, it's between Judge Albert, Marion and Chester - an argument that comes a little later on in the film, but that's still based in the courthouse. Technically, David isn't in this scene - but Honsson wants me to be here, wants me to understand the motivations. Plus, he points out to me, David later hears wind of this through his court friends - and of course, through his wife. So he'd know the general gist of what goes on.

 

I take a seat beside Honsson as Sebastian gets into place, squaring off against Donald and Lisa, all three of them preparing for battle. The lights go up. The camera begins to roll.  
  
"And... ACTION."

 

"...Chester. Is this true?"  
  
"I've never met this woman in my life, father."

 

"A lie. My husband brought him into our house. Our home."

 

\--

 

The scene is fiery, explosive - raised voices and pushing the limits of polite society. Lisa is amazing again as Marion, shrill and devastated, at one point throwing herself at Sebastian to claw Chester's eyes out. Judge Albert grabs her, and holds her back. The argument becomes heated. At last, Chester confesses. It's odd, seeing the film come together piece by piece, in this disjointed fashion. It'd be so much easier, I think, to just do it in order - but that would mean building and dismantling the different sets every single day, instead of filming everything on a single set, and then changing. I expect my way would waste time, and money. 

 

I'm captivated by Sebastian's performance as Chester. He plays him so lovelorn, so intense, so in love with David. As soppy as it is...  He fights his own father without so much as a word, and brazenly declares his love in front of his lover's wife. It's a winning script.

 

I'm smiling when Sebastian finally heads back over to me, the final take done, and he looks exhausted. He takes the bottle of water I hand him gratefully, and drains the whole thing in one go, boiling under all that make up and the stage lights.   
  
"Very impressive."  
  
"You should see me with a jug of beer."  
  
"I meant the acting. Idiot."  
  
Sebastian laughs, and bonks me over the head with the empty bottle. I shove him, and we walk together to costume, this time just holding out our arms and letting the bits and pieces be stripped away from us for safekeeping. Just down to my tights and tunic, I head into the changing room again, and when I emerge, Sebastian is waiting for me, leather jacket held over one arm.   
  
"Drink?"

 

I stop for a moment, shrugging on my jacket. He continues.

 

"There's a pub by Grace's with a good house ale."

 

I can't. We both know I  can't. But God, I want to.  
  
"Tomorrow?" I suggest, and Sebastian deflates a touch, but nods. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."  
  


He walks me to the warehouse doors, and we both watch Craig, talking to one of his casting assistants. He keeps shooting glances this way. My chest feels tight. Sebastian seems to sense it, but he says nothing, much to my relief. Just watches me. I smile at him after a moment, but it's forced, and we both know it. No matter who I used to be, what I used to be, one thing is certain right now. I'm in trouble, and I don't want to go home.  
  
"...I've got a pretty luxurious sofa." Sebastian suggests at last, low and quiet, the words conspiratorial.. but I'm shaking my head before he's even finished, and I know he understands.   
  
"Some other time."

 

He squeezes my shoulder, and with a last, unhappy look at Craig, he's gone - out into the night and to his idling car. Honsson walks past me as I wait, and gives my hair a ruffle.  
  
"Get a good rest tonight, kid. Big kiss scene tomorrow."

 

I give a half-hearted smile, and then he's gone, leaving me with a churning stomach for all the wrong reasons. And then Craig is by my side, hand a vice grip on my elbow.

 

He steers me towards our car. 

 

 

\--

 


	7. The Beaten

I expect him to begin the moment the driver lets that partition slide closed between us, but he doesn't. He sits still, eyes front, not touching me. His jaw is set, and the silence is deafening between us, the tension so thick it's almost suffocating. I can hear my heart pounding in my own ears, and for once, the bravado won't come. I  tell myself that I'm Jim Moriarty, that I'm 'M', that anything that happens here is under my control. A willing endurance to get my name in lights. But I can't seem to summon it. The expectation churns in my stomach, and my heart pounds so loudly in my own ears that I'm not sure I'd hear him even if he did say something.  
  
I'm Jim Moriarty. I don't know the meaning of the word 'fear'.  
  
The drive home is forty five minutes. He doesn't say a word to me - and I convince myself that  he won't touch me, tonight. That his silent treatment is punishment enough, in his eyes. It's a weak, weak hope.  
  
I eye the driver as we get out of the car, the darkness of the night enveloping us. He looks bored, checking his phone the moment we've closed the doors behind us, and he misses the glance I shoot his way. Notice me, I think.  
  
It crosses my mind to run, and the thought is burning shame - but Craig grips my elbow anyway, steering me towards the house. My reluctant feet drag, and he yanks me harder. Pushes me inside. The car's headlights disappear into the night.  
  
I'd never have run, anyway. I'm too proud.  
  
The door locks with a click, and I turn to reason with him.  
  
Craig's opening act is to punch me so hard in the middle that I almost empty the contents of my stomach onto the kitchen floor. My hands scrabble at the tiles, and I'm seeing stars, no breath to even start my reasoning before he fists a hand in my hair, and drags me into the next room, ignoring the pained yell. And then he's kicking me. He's kicking me, and kicking me, and kicking me.  
  
And it's just the beginning.  
  
\--  
  
I wake up in the bath with a start.  
  
It's pitch black around me, and the water is luke warm, cold enough now to make me shiver. The window is open, the black of night and evening chill having migrated inside. It takes a moment for groggy consciousness to stir me completely, before I realise where I am, and that moving any part of myself hurts... that even letting my eyes swivel this way and that, makes my head ache. My mouth is painfully dry, with a metallic tang on my tongue. I'm naked.  
  
What happened? The memories are hazed amongst the pain, and with shaky hands that slip and slide along the cold bath's edge, I try and pull myself up. It's a losing battle from the start, and I fall down two or three times, my legs having turned stiff and uncooperative in the water. I finally manage to climb out of the water, and have to scrabble to hold onto the sink, the tiles slippery under my wet feet as I lurch blindly to find the lightswitch. Every inch of my body throbs and aches, and when the light finally flickers on, the room spins around me, and black spots colour my vision.  
  
I lean back against the wall, let myself slide down to sit on the cold tile and breathe. Just breathe. It hasn't been this bad in a while. I'm not sure if it's been this bad, ever. I need to assess the damage.  
  
When those black spots have finally cleared, I look down at myself blearily, trying to stay awake. It feels like the earliest hours of the morning, and that unsettles me... I don't even know how long the beating went on for, or how long I was in the bath. Was it scalding hot when Craig put me in? I hold my hands up to my face numbly but the skin doesn't seem to be scalded. My fingernails are caked with blood, though my skin is clean and wrinkled from the water, and deciding pragmatically to try and see the damage, I hold my arms out in front of myself.  
  
It's all I can do not to scream - but Jim Moriarty never screams. Broken ribs, it has to be. Or badly bruised, at least. I bite down on my inner cheek and then use those outstretched arms to pull myself up, pretending to myself that the jolting of my ribs isn't agony. I'm shaky, unsteady on my feet as I look down at myself. The black spots threaten to send me back to unconsciousness again, but I blink them away impatiently. I need to know.  
  
My torso is almost black with bruising, especially up and down my sides. The skin is grazed there too, cut and bleeding, though the wounds are swollen, bloodless from the bath. My bare thighs are black and blue, and with a ripple of shame I see Craig's finger marks stand out, a stark shape against the pale skin. I wonder how many times he took me against my will, but I'm too numb at the moment to figure it out. For all I know,  it could have been ten times, or none at all. It's easier to think none at all.  
  
He much prefers me on my knees, anyway. My throat feels ragged, and my eyes prick with burning shame.  
  
Jim Moriarty does not cry. I will not.  
  
I manage to find my way to the mirror, clumsily guiding myself with the sink edge and the radiator - and a hand flies to my mouth when I see myself, ribs jolting at the sudden movement. The bruises look much worse in the full view. My upper arms, my full torso, my legs... And it feels just as bad as it looks. I have a spit lip, and my teeth are crusted in dried blood. The faintest bruise lingers across my cheekbone, but I sigh a breath of relief, leaning in with wet fingers to grip the edge of the sink, studying my face carefully. It can be covered up with make-up. It won't jeopardize the film. I won't lose my big break.  
  
There are finger marks around my throat, and I purse my lips flat uncomfortably, realising how close to death I might have come. I don't even remember being strangled. I must already have been out.  
  
 The Victorian costumes should come up higher than that, I reassure myself distantly. 

 

I look at myself with disgust. If Viana and Mansfield could see me now...

 

They were my most senior operatives and though we've never spoken face to face, only over the phone. Amidst orders and payment, hits and misses... A stern voice into a handset, and their unwavering loyalty in return. I know they will have imagined what I look like... and it's far from this. Bruised, beaten... broken by another man's fists. I think of my business, crumbling into dust. I imagine they think I was taken out by one of my rivals. Burch, maybe. Kidnapped, tortured... not following an old ambition, making a misjudged bid for a clean living. A fresh start. Reputation.

 

They'll think that Jim Moriarty is dead. I look at myself, numbly.

 

I think he is, too.  
  
Something crimson catches my eye, and I look behind myself blearily - catching sight of the leftover bathwater, red and brown with my blood. Wincing as I limp over, I unplug the tub, letting it drain away. I look around myself, but there are no clothes in here. I'm shivering. I have to go out to the bedroom. With fingers still numb and clumsy from cold, I wrap a towel around my waist, body throbbing with each damp step that takes me towards the door.  
  
For a delirious moment when I open it, I think that Craig has gone out. It's pitch black - but after a moment, I can hear him snore and see his thick bulk beneath the covers. A mixture of shame and terrible, burning hatred ignite and mingle in my chest. If I really was Moriarty, I might go straight to the kitchen, return with a knife. I might end this now, slit his throat and watch him writhe as he bleeds out on his silk sheets.  
  
The thought is a small and dreamy comfort. But I am not Moriarty. I don't know who I am, now.  
  
I dress as silently as I can, pulling on whatever I can find. A pair of pants, my jeans, a t shirt, glancing back at Craig the whole time, frozen fingers fumbling. It's like encroaching in a sleeping bear's den. At last I creep out, still only able to move in inches, lest the pain from my ribs and... well, the rest of me... become too great. I close the bedroom door behind me, and in the streetlight shining into the windows, I can see the mess of the flat, usually pristine. Smashed plates. Something dark and wet glints on the floor of the kitchen, and I suspect, matter of factly, that it's my blood. The sofa cushions are off, and there's rope around the sofa legs. I hold up my wrists in front of my face, and sure enough, there are sore burns on the skin.  
  
 I pull on my jacket gingerly and leave, closing the door as silently as I possibly can. I don't know where I'm going.   
  
It might earn me more pain later, but not even Moriarty would lay down next to Craig, now.  
  
The door closes behind me, a silent click.  
  
\--  
  
I think about going to the hospital, but I don't have any money with me - and I don't want them asking questions. I tell the cab driver to take me to Essex, glancing at Craig's window as the car idles. His light has come on. I relax only slightly as the car pulls away from the curb. The chirpy hum of the car radio tells me that it's four in the morning, and then suddenly the cabbie cuts the engine, and we're there - I must have fallen asleep, because I jolt, my body shaking somewhat uncontrollably. I think I must be in shock. The thought is pathetic.  
  
It's too early for anyone else to be here yet, not even crew, but I manage to get taxi money from the security guard. He seems to recognise my face. He pays the fifty quid, and I thank him, irritated by my own chattering teeth, promising to seek him out and pay him back. Jim Moriarty has no debts. He's just nodding, face concerned as he helps me from the car. I try to shake him off, protesting. My body seems to have fallen asleep again.  
  
"I just need to get to my trailer. I've been out clubbing."  I say, filling his concerned silence. I don't think he believes me. At one point I stumble, and gasp at the pull of my ribs. The guard props me upright, looking unnerved. I just laugh, pointing in the direction of my trailer, as if I'm drunk. Rather that, than let him know the alternative. Weakness. Pain.  "This way."  
  
When we finally get there, the guard - who tells me his name is Tyrone - seems reluctant to leave me. Suddenly too exhausted to reply, I lay down gingerly on suede sofa, and he leaves me with a cup of tea, and the number of the front gate to call if I need any help. I already know I'd rather die than call for help, but I thank him again. I hear him ask, distantly, whether I want him to take me to hospital, but I wave him away with a hand, already half asleep. I can tell he's unhappy with this. But he leaves.  
  
I slip back into unconsciousness.  
  
\--  
  
I was hoping to sleep for hours, but it must only be a couple later when I'm awoken again, hands on my face. My first thought is Craig, and I jolt, throwing myself out of the way and almost falling from the sofa in the process, the pain in my ribs flaring white hot in agony.  
  
"James!"  
  
The voice is Geraldine's, and she's caught me before I could hit the carpet. Bleary and apologetic, I try and extricate myself from her grasp. The sun is just coming up outside. What is she doing here? When I can open my eyes properly, I see Tyrone standing at the door again. I glare at him. Traitor. No doubt he grabbed the first person he could that arrived. Just my bad luck that it wasn't an anonymous member of crew.  
  
"I'm fine."  My words are hoarse, still thick with sleep, and Geraldine does, brow furrowed in concern and her brown eyes pitying. I lean back against the sofa.  
  
"Tyrone and I are going to take you to hospital."  
  
"No."  

 

I can't go to a public hospital. I can't risk putting my DNA on record. It might match, from 'M', from when I used to get hands-on with my crimes. I'm glad I didn't go to hospital last night. I'd forgotten that, in the mess of it all. I clear my throat, though my voice rasps terribly, and I feel sudden irritation at myself, at my own condition. I better be able to act, today. "Honestly. I'm fine, Geraldine."  
  
"...Oh, sweetheart."  Tyrone passes her a blanket, and she wraps it around my shoulders. I try and shrug it off, but she catches my wince, much to my chagrin. Tyrone goes into the kitchen area, making me another cup of tea. 

 

"Oh darling." Geraldine is almost tearful.  "What happened? Were you set upon?"  
  
I miss a beat. I can't keep protesting that I'm fine. I must look a state. After a moment of thought, I agree.  
  
"...I left a nightclub. They were waiting for me."  
  
"...Did they steal anything?"  
  
"Just my pride."  Now this - this is acting. I laugh, short and bitter but it hurts my ribs. My inner Moriarty scoffs at me. _Your_ _pride was lost the moment you let Craig raise a hand to you. What would your men say?_  
  
Geraldine is perceptive. She purses her lips in concern. "...Is it the ribs? I've broken ribs, before. Stand up for me, James."  
  
For the 'Jewel of Britain', she's very hands-on. Very caring. I wouldn't have expected that. I'd have thought she'd click her fingers for the crew to help, instead. 

 

"Honestly, I'm -"  
  
"Up. Now."

 

I roll my eyes and I stand, dizzy and unsteady on my feet again. I pretend it doesn't hurt.  I can barely remember getting here in the night. How did I pay for the cab?

  
Geraldine steps close and feels gingerly at my ribs. I yelp, and quickly let the sound morph into a curse word, humiliated by the pain. I glance at Tyrone, but he doesn't seem to be anything more than concerned, bringing those cups of tea over. Nobody mocks me but myself.  
  
"I think we've definitely got a broken one. Bruising, too." The actress sighs, and Tyrone bends down to a medical kit that they've brought with them. He's come prepared. "There's no shame in going to hospital, sweetheart. I know you don't want to disappoint him, but John will understand."  
  
"I'm not going to hospital." I say, with more defiance than I've managed in months with Craig. My face is set, mind made up. I wish my voice wasn't so breathy, ribs still throbbing.  "They can't do anything but wrap ribs, anyway. I can do that."  
  
Geraldine and Tyrone share a look. He holds up a roll of bandages, and I hold my arms out. Geraldine just sighs, and I want to tell her that at least I'm letting her wrap them at all. This whole situation is mortifying. Demeaning. I hate that anybody is seeing me this way. Geraldine lifts up my t shirt gingerly, and then gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. I purse my lips flat, trying not to let her concern get to me. It must look bad. Really, really bad. I have a hazy image of black bruising from the bathroom mirror this morning...  
  
She gathers herself after a moment, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek, just waiting, my arms aloft. My inner crime boss catches sight of me in the make-up mirror from a distance - a patchwork of black and blue. 

_Who are you, now?_

  
Geraldine sets to work without another word.  
  
\--


	8. The Helper

By the time Geraldine leaves my trailer, Tyrone by her side, I have to admit that I feel a little better. Physically at least, though my head is still a mess of old and new - should haves and could haves. 

 

They've wrapped my ribs so tightly that I feel like I'm wearing one of the costumier's corsets, and dabbed an antiseptic salve, with plasters or wrappings, on any open wounds that I have. They've even made sure that I had some breakfast, though I scoffed at the idea initially. A bacon and egg roll in my stomach, I'm escorted to costume and make-up. I'm in the first scene of the day with Geraldine, which means that the others aren't in until later... and shamefully, it's a relief. It means I can get changed in peace and as slowly as I need to, and ask Chelsea to cover up the bruise on my face, and the split lip. 

 

She eyes me dubiously, anxiously when I do - just like Geraldine did, when I asked her to keep this between us.  
  
"But whyever wouldn't you report them?" Geraldine had pleaded.  "James, if you're frightened -"  
  
"I didn't get a good look at them."  
  
She'd agreed reluctantly at last, and left me to go and change into her own costume, with all it's layers and glory. Chelsea carefully covers the evidence of last night with concealers and powder brushes, even dabbing a touch of colour on my bottom lip to try and hide the cut.   
  
"I got mugged." I tell her at last, and the words are blunt, inviting no more questions. She relaxes a fraction. It happens, she assures me, they'll catch the little bastards. 

 

Craig checks on me when he arrives - it's just before my scene is about to start filming. He ducks around the corner of the make-up pod, glides in like he owns the place, and looks me straight in the face, where I sit in the make-up chair.  I can't look at him. I look everywhere else. Anywhere else. He doesn't even say anything - he just looks, as if making sure that he can't possibly get in trouble for what he's done. If I hadn't gotten it covered up properly, it'd no doubt mean another beating later for showing him up.

 

A ghost of a smile settles on his lips, equal parts relieved and satisfied with his handiwork. I feel sick, but I face front, face impassive. I won't let him see the cracks. He squeezes my shoulder before he leaves - but it's possessive, too hard, and I bite my own tongue against lashing out. I hate him. I swallow down bile that's risen in my throat.

 

How easy it would be to send off an email, to have Viana or Mansfield dispatch a crew to crucify him. How easy it would be to take a knife to him, myself. 

 

_But you haven't done it yet, have you? You can't do it. You've lost your nerve._

 

Chelsea watches me closely once he's gone... but if she's noticed anything, then she doesn't comment.

 

Perhaps I'm a better actor than I thought.

 

\--

 

I brace myself for Honsson to say something about my face, about the stiff posture as I step onto set, about Geraldine trying to hold my hand a little protectively. The director doesn't seem to notice a thing, and I'm just relieved that I had Chelsea on hand. I can't relax, knowing that Craig is around somewhere. I slip my hand back from Geraldine's, not wanting to arouse questions, and give her a short smile, grateful. But I'm not a bird with a broken wing.

 

I'm all business. I get into position, running over my lines in my head. I think past the pain - the painkillers are helping, two with a glass of orange juice - and go into David's head, David's mindset. David's life, not mine. It's a damn sight harder than yesterday considering. I force myself to look at Geraldine, and see Chester's mother, Anne. I brace my hands on the back of a chair - we're in Chester's house today, an extravagant Victorian dining room, complete with full length dining table, place settings and twelve dining chairs. Anne and David stand at odds - she's called a meeting with her son's mysterious lover. 

 

I close my eyes and get in character. Honsson settles into his chair, the lights come on, and the camera rolls.   
  
"...And... ACTION!"

 

"My son is a changed man, Mr Whittock. And I do believe that you may be the cause.."

 

\--

 

The scene goes well. I'm somewhat relieved that it was this one, today. David is stiff and unyielding, unwilling to admit to this woman that he's in love with her son, despite the fact that they both know. It's easier for me not to have to move. He pushes away her claims, denies knowing Chester as anything more than an acquaintance - though there's a knowingness between them - and at the end of the scene, Anne grabs David's hand. She pleads with him not to break her son's heart. He'll be a broken man, she says. He loves with every ounce of his being. David shakes her off. 

 

We got it in only three takes, which is a relief to me -  shamefully, I need to rest, to sit down, to have something else to eat. That bacon and egg roll doesn't seem enough, from six this morning and my hands have started to shake again. I smile at the slaps on the back from the crew, at Geraldine's embrace - she's finished for the day, now - and thank her quietly for this morning. She's still watching me with pity as I head over to the buffet trolley, and start making myself up a salad.

 

Sebastian arrives while my back is turned, and starts talking to me with that easy grin.   
  
"So I was thinking..."  
  
Shamefully, it startles me, and I drop my plate into the salad bowl with a clatter. When I glance up, he's checking his phone as he talks, thankfully oblivious.  
  
"I've booked us a booth at McGann's for that drink. I've got it from six to eight,  cause I figure we could wrap anytime. Hear it's not a bad bar, actually."  
  
He's leaning back against the buffet trolley, and I can't help but roll my eyes. He's wearing those scuffed old boots again, this time a shirt with his jeans. 

 

"Right." I agree amusedly, though I know already that there's no way I can go for drinks. Though the thought of going home later fills me with a dull dread. 

 

"How was your scene with..." 

 

Sebastian's words have trailed off, and when I glance over at him, I notice that he's looking at me properly for the first time. He's too close - trained eyes see that faint bruise, the cut on my lip. His gaze travels lower, to the collar that I unfastened only a moment earlier, to give myself room to breathe. I know he's seeing those finger shaped bruises. I purse my lips flat, look away.  
  
"Geraldine? Yeah, really great. She's very talented."  
  
I pop a tomato into my mouth and chew nonchalantly, but Sebastian still hasn't said anything. His eyes have darkened. He must be thinking of yesterday - his theories that I'd rather have died than confirm. I load a few more things onto my plate, and make to head back to the green room - but then quick as a flash, his hand is on my waist, and he's guiding me firmly into the prop store. I can't help it - I grit my teeth against a wince at the sudden movements, and he freezes, looking down at me.  Don't, I want to say, shamed. Don't look too closely, don't pity me, don't overthink it. You don't know what you think you know.

 

He closes the door behind us, and then those blue eyes are on me. I look back at him, defiance in my eyes. 

 

There's a long silence. I say nothing. I don't look at him. It's thick. Knowing. At last, he speaks. It irritates me that I can't quite meet his eyes.

 

"...You gonna tell me what happened?" 

 

"I got mugged."  The excuse comes automatically, coolly. Sebastian purses his lips flat.  
  
"...I should never have let you go home."  
  
" I was jumped by a gang of boys."  I try, putting a little more gusto into the flat excuse, and turning to leave - but Sebastian reaches over and pops another button of my collar.   
  
"Oh yeah?" He asks quietly. "They strangle you for your wallet, James?"  
  
I push off his hand, and a thick silence passes between us. I don't want pity. Somehow I'm vehement that Sebastian does not pity me. I grit my teeth.  
  
"You don't understand..." I say slowly.

 

"Then help me to."  
  
"You don't know me." I remind him, and the words are sharp. I tug my collar back to myself. He knows nothing of what I've been through, who I used to be. What Craig's done for me. 

 

"You let him do it. You let him, don't you?"

 

Silence, on my part. Shame. My voice clipped when I speak. Defensive.

 

"I'm three days in to filming. I'm not home free, yet."

 

"You just... let him."     
  


I close my eyes. Sebastian's words are disbelieving, and that shame burns hot in my chest. I let a man beat me to smithereens. Or at least, I elect not to leave. It must seem so simple in Sebastian's head. Just walk away. Stay with friends or relatives. He can't know that I don't have any. That I don't even own the clothes on my back. It's inconceivable for me, too. I used to have it all. The money, the luxury. I still could, if I wanted. I'm trying for something new. Something good.

 

It just takes a little time. A little pain.

 

"You don't understand."

 

"Then help me to." 

 

The words are kind. An undercurrent of anger runs through them, urgent, and there's pity there too. I hate it. I hate all of it. He reaches for me, his fingertips just skimming that bruise on my cheekbone, and I push him away hard, a sudden reaction.   
  
"I don't need you to understand." I insist, harsh, rage bursting from me in exasperation.  "I don't need to be saved!"

 

 I see frustration flash in Sebastian's eyes, indignant hatred for Craig bubbling under the surface. "...If I'd kept you with me...-"  
  
"It would have happened anyway."

 

I'm breathless, bent over a little, my ribs having jolted from pushing him. My hand cradles my side, and Sebastian reaches for me, deft hands moving my jacket aside, though I try and push him off. The bandages are visible, thick and bulky through the tunic.   
  
"...Geraldine." I explain reluctantly, and his expression becomes confused. I'm irritated with myself for giving up the game so easily. I should have tried to keep to my mugging excuse. Keep a little pride.  
  
"She knows?"  
  
"She thinks I was mugged."  I pull my tunic closed again, blunt.  "So do make-up. Honsson doesn't know."

 

A pause. Dark-eyed and tone stiff with calm anger, Sebastian watches my fingers rebutton my costume. 

 

"...Is he here today?"  
  
  My words are calm. Like it doesn't bother me. "He came to check up on me. I think he was worried."  
  
"Worried about you?"  
  
I have to laugh. It seems almost stupid, ridiculous somehow, that Craig should be worried about me.  
  
" About people finding out, I expect."

 

Sebastian grits his teeth again, and that anger in his eyes is momentarily replaced with earnest frustration, aimed at me. 

 

"...You're so good, James. You could have gotten this part without his help."

 

My hand had found the door handle, but it slips off at that, and I still.

 

"He's my home. The only one I have, right now."  My voice is matter of fact. I sound like an echo of Craig himself. Moriarty cringes inside me, bellows his outrage.

 

 "I'm telling you now - you don't need him."

 

"Easy for you to say."

 

"Let me help you."  
  
Sebastian reaches for me,  but I take his hand, and move it away, not able to cope with a single second more of this sympathy. Of this pity. I don't need rescuing. I'm in this on my own terms.

 

"You don't understand." The words are almost sad. Simple. I have a past. I'm making a future.  "You just can't." 

 

 I open the door and step out, buttoning the top of my collar again, lest anyone see those bruises. I head for my trailer, downcast.  
  
 He calls after me, but I don't turn back. 

 

\--  
  


I get about halfway to my trailer before I realise that I don't want to be there alone. Not with Craig still milling around, and quite possibly ready for a second round. Shamefully, I'm not sure I'd survive that. 

 

I turn, and head back onto set - straight into the green room. I eat my salad silently, just hoping that Sebastian won't follow me in here. That he'll respect what I want and let it go, resume our friendship as it was - easygoing and light, a good start. I'm no damsel. I know exactly what I'm doing. 

 

It won't be long now, I assure myself, as Bev heads in and touches up my make-up, ready for the next scene. I pop two more painkillers. Not long now, and then I can be a star in my own right. I won't need Craig anymore - his money or his favour. 

 

When Bev's finished, I'm tossing my plate in the bin just as Honsson heads in. The director claps his hands when he sees me, grinning, and sits down beside me.  
  
"Are we ready, then?"  
  
I blink at him, realising he must be talking about the next scene. I can't even think what it is. I need to go over my lines.  ".. You'll have to remind me.."  
  
"The big kiss scene. I'm ready for fireworks, Jimmy."

 

Oh, hell.

 

\--


	9. The Unprepared

In no time at all, it seems that Honsson is leading me back onto the set, an arm around my shoulders as he talks me animatedly through the scene. I remember it vaguely from the first reading, but I haven't had time to learn the lines - not after last night. I only managed to skim read my scene with Geraldine this morning.

 

It's the drinking scene. Chester and David get close, and it sets up the sex scene. That one won't be filming until they've built the barn set. I've seen bits and pieces of it. Flat annoyance settles in my stomach at the thought of this kiss.

 

Because they couldn't have picked a worse time for it. 

 

"...So we'll do the whole scene with one take. Do it that way - get what we need, save the repeats. Hopefully."  
  
"I don't mind." I protest a touch too vehemently, worried that he's taking pity on my acting inexperience. Honsson just shakes his head.  
  
"I need the passion. It loses it if you do too many takes. But don't you worry - Sebastian's great."  
  


He slaps me on the back, and then leaves me standing at the edge of the set. Sebastian is already in place, dressed in full costume, Chelsea just touching up the last bits of his make-up. He's poring over his script, and I step onto the set a little nervously, not sure how he'll be with me. He glances up; but barely acknowledges me, and I purse my lips, knowing he's disappointed that I've refused his help. I wonder if he thinks I'm weak. The thought hurts more than I'd like to admit. It burns in my chest, thick shame. Weak. It's worse than a curse word, an insult. He has no idea how much strength it takes to stay with Craig.

 

I stand there for a minute, reading over my own script when I feel eyes on me - and realise that Craig has walked onto set. It's like a sixth sense, a prickle on the back of my neck. He stands with his arms folded across his chest, flanked by his casting assistants. His gaze is heavy, suffocating, but I don't gift him so much as a glance. I know it'll annoy him. I can't help myself.

 

"Places, people."  
  
Sebastian glances up, and then hands his script to Chelsea, who heads off with it. The lights come up behind the false windows, dimly illuminating the set. The fire crackles in the fireplace, and the camera finds us. I see Sebastian's jaw tighten when he spots Craig, and his eyes find me next, reluctant resignation in his gaze. I look away, lips pursed, and go to sit, stiff, in one of the two armchairs by the fire. Sebastian takes the other. A decanter of whiskey - no doubt just coloured water - and two glasses sit beside us, and the costumiers run on, unbuttoning Sebastian's tunic so that the first five buttons are open, showcasing a tanned chest. They dart off again, and then Honsson is counting us down. I can no longer see Craig, the area outside of the set and the blinking eye of the camera swathed in darkness. I stubbornly avoid Sebastian's eye, and then it's too late.

 

And. Action.

 

"Another?"  Chester laughs, tipping whiskey from the decanter into both glasses, and pushing one into David's hand. David rolls his eyes and smiles, taking a sip.  
  
"Are you endeavouring to see me make a fool of myself, Mr Marriott?"  
  
"Not at all, Mr Whittock."  He takes a long sip of the whiskey. "Merely testing your capacity to hold your liquor."  
  
"...I say.. This tastes rather a lot like Glamorgan's. Not your father's prized selection, I hope?"

 

"...Why should good whiskey be wasted on a man incapable of taste?"  
  
"Chester!"  
  
Chester drains his glass, and raises it empty in a toast.  "To mothers, fathers and wives. Barriers to our happiness."  
  
The words are bitter - and David puts a hand atop his friend's own. "...Chester.."  
  
"Aren't they, though?"

 

"...I don't quite know what you mean."

 

"Yes you do, Mr Whittock."  Chester says quietly, and a silence passes between them, a heated gaze. And then David giggles, examining his glass.

 

"...I do believe I might be drunk."  
  
"I certainly hope so."  Chester muses, the tension diffused. He tilts his head at David. "Firelight suits you, Whittock."

 

"Oh?"  David tilts his head this way and that, preening - silly.  "Am I one of your drawn ladies, Chester?"

 

"...You're a thousand times more exquisite."  Chester's voice is soft, and David looks at him a little differently, taken aback.   
  
"...Chester.." He says quietly, a chide, but Chester's hand has found his cheek, and the man leans in, David frozen in place as their lips touch. They remain like that, still for a long few moments... and then;

 

"CUT."

 

Honsson's voice cuts through the scene, and Sebastian and I jump apart, brought back to reality. Honsson has his lips pursed flat, forehead creased in a mixture of surprise and disappointment.  
  
"What was that?"  The crew, formerly silent, begin turning away and talking amongst themselves quietly, the awkwardness obvious. I have to force myself not to shrug, and try not to look for Craig. Honsson goes on, dumbfounded. "It was going so well. We had fire, we had passion. Where was my bloody kiss?"

 

I have no excuse. I was stiff as a board. I look at Sebastian, and he sighs, eyes finding his shoes. 

 

"We try again." Honsson says. "From 'You're a thousand times'. Places, people."  
  
The crew are silenced as quickly as that, people quickly moving back into place, and the clapper board snaps, signals another take. Honsson counts us down.

 

"And action."

 

Sebastian's voice is identical to how it was a moment ago.  
  
"...You're a thousand times more exquisite."   
  
"...Chester..."

 

His hand finds my cheek, but when his lips find mine, they're still and soft, and I let myself still again, my eyes still open. I know, even before Honsson yells 'CUT' that it's another write off, and I suddenly feel a flicker of unease... Perhaps I can't do this after all. Perhaps I've killed whatever chemistry we had by showing Sebastian my weakness. He pulls away from me as the director stands from his seat, coming over to us and putting an arm around each of our shoulders. The crew begin to chatter again, and I feel irritated exasperation settle in my chest. Why can't we fucking do it?  
  
"...Right." Honsson sighs. "What's the problem?"

 

"No problem." I assure him flatly, but Sebastian says nothing, just looking off set. Looking in Craig's direction. He's busy, dealing with supporting artists.  
  
"Seb?"  
  
"Nothing, John. It's fine. Just... getting in the zone."  
  
"Is it the angle? Do you want to be standing, lean down?"  
  
Sebastian thinks about that for a moment. "...Yeah, okay. I'll give it a go."

 

The lack of enthusiasm doesn't exactly sound promising. I roll my eyes. You'd think he was being given a death sentence. 

 

"Right."  Honsson straightens. "Seb, you stand on your line. James, you stand on yours - like you're in shock, alright? That way we've got the continuity. Just... give it your best, boys. Got it?"  
  
"Got it." I agree, a mutter. My eyes adjust to the darkness around the set, and I'm sure that I can see Craig, mouth turned down at the corners in displeasure. Perhaps he thinks I'm doing it on purpose. Any excuse to show him up. 

 

Honsson returns to his seat, and claps his hands to get the crew's attention. Third time lucky. I'm reminded with chagrin that he wanted this in one take. We've got to do better. 

 

The tension descends when the silence does, all eyes on us. The more takes this needs, the longer we'll be filming. The shorter the already late lunch break. People will get irritated. I force myself to focus, and turn to look at Sebastian, Honsson holding up a hand to count us down.   
  
"...And action."

 

This time, looking down at me, Sebastian rises on his line, an urgent earnestness to the quiet of his voice. His eyes search mine - and there's a fire in them, drawing and holding my attention. It's a sudden, infinitesimal change, but it's there.

 

"...You're a _thousand_  times more exquisite." 

 

Something stirs in my stomach, much to my surprise. I suddenly can't remember what I was going to say - what I'm supposed to say. I just watch Sebastian, feel the need in his voice, that urgent intensity in those blue eyes. In my sudden silence, he reaches down, his hands gripping my arms, sliding down lightly to hold my hands, to grasp them in his own. I've forgotten to stand, and he pulls me to my feet.  
  
"...Chester..." I manage to choke at the last moment, remembering the line at last. My heart skitters, and for once, my inner Moriarty is silent. My eyes find his mouth, knowing what's coming. 

 

His hand lifts my own to his chest, and presses it there. I can feel his heart thudding steadily, and I'm mesmerised as I watch him. His other hand slips to my cheek, and I lean into it - before suddenly, he's pulling me closer. His lips find mine, warm and soft and urgent, and my eyes slip shut, a low gasp catching in my throat. The hand pressed against his chest curls into the fabric of the tunic, and then he's sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, the fingers on my cheek moving upwards and threading into my hair. 

 

I feel almost dizzy when he finally pulls back, remembering with a start that it was supposed to be me - David - that pulls away. But Sebastian is improvising. I hope that Honsson doesn't notice.

 

"...Exquisite." He repeats, just a breath against my lips, eyes on mine - and before I know what I'm doing, I'm kissing him again, that hand now fisting in his tunic. That definitely wasn't in the script.

 

It takes three attempts at 'cut' and a few stilted, amused giggles from the crew - and a clearing of Honsson's throat - to finally get through to me. I step back from Sebastian a little embarrassedly, glancing around surreptitiously at our captive audience.  Honsson looks positively thrilled. He claps his hands together, once, twice - mocking us - but then the crew join in, a smattering of teasing applause that makes me grit my teeth in chagrin, though I'm trying not to smile. Sebastian just laughs, and gives a mock bow, but one of his hands is still around mine - and his thumb strokes over the back of my knuckles, my heart giving another stuttered thud in my chest. 

 

 _What the fuck was that?_ Moriarty asks me, scathing.

 

"We got it. We fucking got it." Honsson is grinning from ear to ear, marching over to us and ruffling my hair, slapping Sebastian on the back. "Thought we'd lost it there for a minute, but you pulled it back. Stars. My stars."  
  
I laugh, but I'm surprised myself and when I glance at Sebastian, his gaze on mine is hungry. My mouth goes dry. Moriarty falls silent in my head.

 

"Seb, you're on with Lisa next. Go and get a coffee, and I'll see you in ten. James, you're done for the day. But feel free to stick around, kiddo."  
  


I nod, my voice betraying my befuddlement.  "Yeah. I'll stay. Go..." I clear my throat, the breathiness getting on my nerves. "Go learn my lines for tomorrow."

 

Beside me, Sebastian's mouth quirks slightly in a smile. His hand frees mine, at last. Honsson slaps us on the back again, exultant, and then marches off, Eleanor trailing after him. Sebastian saunters off, that smile still on his face, towards the green room. I've already decided to follow him when Craig steps into my path, those black eyes back again.   
  
"You're lucky he pulled it together back there."  He muses, and it's a warning beneath that carefully crafted, offhand tone. Don't. Show. Me. Up. 

 

I say nothing. I walk around him, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. I'll pay for that, later.

 

\--

 

My heart is still thudding when I step into the green room, and seeing that only Sebastian is in here with me, lock the door. He's making coffee in the machine, facing away from me.   
  
"...What the fuck was that?" I ask bluntly, arms folded over my chest. Sebastian glances over his shoulder.   
  
"What was what?"  
  
"Don't give me that. You know what."

 

Sebastian's attention returns to his drink. He's being a dick.  
  
"...It's called acting. It's funny - you know, that's what they pay us for..."

 

I march closer, lips pursed flat. "The first two takes.  _That_  was acting."

 

He's tipping sugar into his cardboard cup now, still not turning to face me. Nonchalant, like it meant nothing. Maybe it didn't. Maybe he's right. 

 

"Honsson was getting antsy. One of us needed to step up to the plate."  
  


My eyebrows shoot up, and anger flares in my chest. "Excuse me?"  
  
This time, he turns around, folding his arms loosely over his chest. Calm. "You heard me. You were stiff as a board."

 

I glare at him, indignant. "It takes two to tango, you know. You were hardly -"  
  
"Maybe if your ham fisted boyfriend wasn't hanging over us.." Sebastian quips, leaning against the counter and stirring his drink nonchalantly with a plastic spoon. The words are matter of fact, but he's still angry - I can see it in the tight set of his shoulders. I grit my teeth.   
  
"....I told you to let it go."  
  
"You know, I've never known a casting director show up for every scene."

 

"Is that what this is about?"

 

"Probably just making sure nobody touches his property except him."

 

"Sebastian..." I warn.

 

"Daddy doesn't like to share his toys."

 

I'm not planning to do it, but Moriarty takes over me. I'm close to the edge, putting myself through the wringer for this and I don't need Sebastian's scoffing as well.

 

My hand whips out, and I slap him across the cheek with a hard crack. There's a beat of silence, and he watches me, that slapped skin flushing a faint red. And then all at once, he pushes that cup back onto the side, coffee sloshing over the edge, takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard. I gasp into his mouth, and my hands tangle in his tunic, pulling him to me as we stagger backwards and against the wall, my ribs giving a throb in protest. It's urgent and needy, and I part my lips for his tongue before it nudges mine, my eyes slipping closed as he presses his body flush against me. Warm, dark need crests in my stomach, and I'm not thinking, just letting myself react.

 

_There you are._

 

An announcement over the speaker system signals the start of the next scene, and Sebastian curses against my lips, pulling back an inch. We're both breathing hard, his pupils blown. But he has to go. He pulls back slowly and steps back, holding my gaze all the while. I stay by the wall, exactly where he left me, watching him with reproach. My heart thuds. 

 

As he reaches the door, Lisa ducks in, oblivious.  
  
"Oh, Seb. I was just coming to fetch you. You ready?"

 

He just nods, and she ducks back out, Sebastian shooting a last glance at me before he goes, the heat in his eyes melting something in my stomach. I just glare back at him -  and as the door swings shut, lean back against the sofa. I lift curious fingers to my lips, still tasting him there. The room is suddenly silent, and my blood roars in my ears. 

 

_There you are.._

 

\--

 


	10. The Pub

My head is a mess.

 

I'd have liked to go and watch Sebastian's scene with Lisa, but I need a moment alone, and so I just read it over in the script instead, so I know what's going on. After a while, I change back into my own clothes, hating how long it takes me, having to be so damned careful with the bandages, the bruises...

 

Back in the green room, I begin learning my lines for tomorrow, pleased when some of the supporting artists come and sit in with me. Something about being alone when Craig is around and angry just doesn't strike me as clever, no matter what my inner Moriarty says. I press gingerly, surreptitiously at my ribs, feeling over the bandages. Still tender - along with the rest of me. I remember Sebastian in the props room earlier, the way his eyes darkened when he saw those bandages.. the finger shaped bruises around my neck.

 

The thought fills me with a kind of self-conscious anger. He wants to be my hero. I can feel it. And letting myself get swept up by his kisses was a mistake. I'm nobody's damsel in distress. 

 

I'm Jim Moriarty.

 

Even to myself, in my own head, the words are almost laughable. Part of me knows that I haven't been Jim Moriarty for months now. I disappeared from the scene in a puff of smoke... Viana and Mansfield left to fend for themselves, my jobs abandoned for a shot at the big time. For clean money, real reputation... but it's cost me my identity. 

 

Jim Moriarty, trapped under the thumb of a man who likes to beat me senseless for his own pleasure. If you'd asked me a year ago, I might have said that he sounded like a good Saturday night. But the reality is different. The reality is weakness. And now I'm running into the arms of the first man who offers gentleness. Kind words. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic, and it makes me want to scream with fury. 

 

By the time Sebastian's finished his scene, it's gone six o clock, and most of the supporting artists and spare crew members have gone home.

 

Sebastian heads into the green room with Lisa in tow, and the heated look he shoots me could melt steel. I look back to my script with difficulty, my decision made. 

 

One of the costumiers hurries in after him, and Sebastian's stripping his tunic off bit by bit as he watches me, left in his boxer shorts before he pulls on his own clothes. Exhibitionist. Lisa giggles like a school girl, gathering her things before she heads out and giving Sebastian a cheeky smack on the bum as she passes. He grins, pulling his t shirt down over his head and stepping into his jeans. He wipes the make-up from his face with a towel, and then tosses it into the corner of the room, looking at me with a kind of defiance. We're alone now, and I stand carefully. The silence between us is thick.   
  
"...Sebastian," I say, and the words are solid, confident. Planned.  "This isn't a good idea.."

 

"Drink?"  He rebuffs my decision with a single word. The offer is blunt, but there, and he holds out my jacket for me, hand extended towards me. 

 

I purse my lips and look back at him, flat. He knows exactly what he's doing.

 

If I go with him, it isn't just a drink. It's some kind of agreement to do something about Craig. To help myself. And I'm not safe enough, yet. Honsson could still replace me. Those months of endurance would mean nothing. 

 

"That's not a good idea." I say flatly, and take my jacket. Sebastian watches me, and I think for a moment that he might leave it. That he might just let me walk out of here. I make for the door, and his words stop me in my tracks.  
  
"You're not going home."

 

_He can't tell you what to do._

"I have to." My words are flat. Resigned. I glance back at him, frowning. "This isn't your problem."

 

"I'm involved now."  
  
"Then take a step back." My voice is clipped, annoyed, and I force my jacket on with a wince at the drag to my ribs. Of course he sees it. 

 

I don't wait long enough to see the look on his face, and force my way out of the green room, past Alex the bodyguard, who watches me dubiously.

 

"Alex," Sebastian remarks, casual, following me out as he pulls on his own jacket. "Do us a favour, would you? Escort us to McGann's."

 

"Yes sir."  
  
"I'm not going to McGann's." I call exasperatedly behind myself, but Sebastian's beside me now, walking by me. Why won't he fuck off and just leave me to my own demise? Nobody could blame him.  
  
"Yes you are." He says, matter-of-fact, and I glance back at Alex, following behind us and talking into a headset. 

 

"One drink." I say at long last, and it's reluctant. I push Sebastian away from me, but there's a slight triumphant smile that settles over Sebastian's lips and something in his eyes, something akin to determination. 

 

I'll go, just for a while. 

 

_Because you're too scared of going home. Weak._

 

\--

 

"Are you scared?" 

 

Sebastian asks me nonchalantly as we walk, and it's no mystery what - or who - he's talking about. We missed him on the way out somehow - he was probably seeing off the last of his supporting artists. Or maybe he just didn't want to come near me with Sebastian and Alex in tow. 

 

I scoff at the question.  "No."

 

"No?"  He sounds surprised, and I purse my lips, flat. I'm not weak. I'm not. 

  
 "I used to have a job... I used to work with... difficult people."  
  
"Difficult people." Sebastian repeats wryly, and I know that he's thinking about the inaccuracy of that word. 

 

"I was the boss." I inform him, hands in my jacket pockets. "They respected me. I've never not been in control."

 

The words are unspoken between us. I wasn't in control, last night. And Craig doesn't respect me, not a jot. 

 

"...You could be in control now."  Sebastian says quietly, and I just shake my head, looking into the distance. He doesn't understand how much I've given for this. 

 

The warm light from McGann's beckons us in, and I rub my hands to thaw them when we get inside, the smell of food and alcohol thick and comforting in the air. We have no trouble getting our booth - everything warm, worn leather, a sports channel on one of the screens, and old men sitting around, watching the sports as they drink, or reading the paper. The owner greets us with a kind of gusto that makes me smile; he no doubt recognises Sebastian, because we get complimentary drinks and snacks while we peruse the menu, the waiter watching us with clasped hands.

  
"...One drink, I said."

 

"Looks like you've got dinner, too. Most people would be grateful."  
  
"I'm only staying because I'm starving."  
  
"Noted."

 

We order a few different things to share and then settle back with our drinks as the waiter disappears. Sebastian draws a circle on the table with his fingertip, and I watch his hands, observing the length of his fingers, the tendons beneath the tan skin, the slight tan line where he's been wearing a watch. It's silent between us, but comfortably so. Neither of us want to talk about that kiss. Nor about Craig. It's just enough to be here, together, right now. An amicable impasse. 

 

"...So this job..." He begins at last, dragging my eyes from his hands as he pops a crisp in his mouth. I appreciate the change of subject. "...You were the boss, right?"  
  
"Yeah."

 

"Boss of what, exactly?"

 

I smile slightly, lean back where I sit.  "...I thought you decided I was in sales?"  
  
"Not sales though, was it?" 

 

I shake my head, shadow of an amused smile on my lips. He probably thinks this is safe conversation.  "...No. It wasn't sales."

 

He watches me expectantly for a moment, and when I don't say anything, he laughs, popping another crisp into his mouth and biting down with a crunch. Our drinks arrive. A beer, and a gin and lemonade.  
  
"Was it something bad? Traffic warden?"

 

I laugh at that, and then nod solemnly, before sipping at my drink.  
  
"Yes, that's exactly it. I was a traffic warden."

 

"Police, then?"  
  
"More the opposite end of the spectrum."

 

The words slip too freely from my mouth, and I grow still, concerned about what he might glean from that. But he just looks confused. I'm pleased when our meals arrive - all four of them, enough for us to share, pick and choose. I dig in, loading up my plate and change the subject. I feel suddenly ravenous, away from the surveilled atmosphere of the set. I try my own hand at small talk.

 

"So... what's your story?"  
  
"...What?"  Sebastian sounds amused, watching me. He just digs in with his fork, not bothering to spoon food onto his own plate.   
  
"You know. Where did you grow up? What did you do before this?" I take a spoonful of shepherd's pie, and add, mockingly; "What's your favourite colour?"

 

Sebastian grins. "... Green."

 

He steals a chip from my plate, dunks it in the cheese sauce of the lasagna, and continues.  
  
"From Croydon. Family are still there. I've got to go back this weekend. And... I've been acting for five years."  
  
"So nothing, before that."  
  
He smiles, and I sense suddenly that he's held something back.  

 

"What?" I ask, eyes narrowed slightly.   
  
"I was in the army. Went in at sixteen, came out at twenty three. They scouted me from my recruitment booklet."  
  
I laugh disbelievingly at that, almost choking on the food in my mouth, having to hold a hand over my mouth for a moment while I swallow it. "You what?"  
  
"Oh yeah. They wanted pretty faces. Didn't give a fuck if I could act or not. Lucky for them, I wasn't half bad."

 

"That's madness." And then just a flicker of Moriarty curiosity. "You can shoot?"  
  
"Yeah," Sebastian laughs, tears a chunk from a piece of garlic bread. "I can shoot." His twinkling eyes darken for a moment - just a split second, though his tone is still easy. "Why? You got someone you want me to bump off?"

 

I just give him a look. 

 

He holds up his hands in defence, and I try to return to the safer subject. 

 

"You're lucky you came home with no scars. No casting director'd take you."  
  
"Well. If you know the right ones..."  
  
I shoot him another warning glance, and he chuckles this time. In spite of myself, I smile.   
  
"Nah. I do have a scar. Shrapnel."

 

I frown at that. He never uses the changing rooms, so...  "I've seen you practically naked."  
  
"Believe me when I say it was a pain in the arse." He quips dryly, and there's a bizarre beat before I realise what he means, and  crack up laughing.

 

He joins in after a moment, and it quickly morphs into  a stupid kind of laughter - fuelled by exhaustion, stress, a happy moment in an otherwise fraught life. Something's cracked inside me, and the floodgates open - just ridiculous, hitching, tear-inducing laughter. Maybe it's because I'm tired, maybe it's the painkillers, or maybe it's just because I've found myself here, in the pub, taking risks with my co-star - and he's talking about his  _arse._

 

I gripping the table, trying to be quiet, but Sebastian's even louder than me, and my ribs hurt with the effort of it. A few of the old men look over at us, and soon Sebastian puts a hand  over my mouth, still laughing himself as he tries to stop me. His hand is big, warm, the skin slightly rough, and I take it with my own to pull it away, batting at him.  His fingers curl around mine, and the laughter dies away steadily, gradually into breaths... A shadow of a smile still hangs on my lips.

 

He's holding my gaze. And then his eyes drop to my lips, and uneasy desire lurches into my throat, the taste of the gin on my tongue.  
  
"...I can't." I say, but my eyes are on his mouth, my fingers still curled hard around the table's edge.  
  
"You can't go home tonight."  Sebastian says, and we're only inches apart, the words just a murmur. His hand gently loosens mine from the table, and I know that I can't do this, that it's not time yet, that I can't afford to lose it all.

  
"I've only known you for three days." I remind him with mock scandal, amusement colouring my tone, though we both know he's right. I've done too much to irritate Craig today.

 

"Like I said. Luxurious sofa."

  
I roll my eyes, give him a flat look. "...I see."

 

"Honestly." He laughs, though the smile fades when I don't return it, torn between what I should do, and what will keep me alive.

 

I don't get a chance to decide. My eyes find his again, and then Sebastian dips his head, moves to close the gap between us. Throwing caution to the wind for just a moment, I close my eyes, parting my lips slightly in anticipation of that kiss.

 

A voice interrupts us, gruff and low, and my eyes snap open again. I'm slammed back to reality. A warning.   
  
"Jim."

 

It's Craig.

 

\--

 

Sebastian's hand on mine tightens, but I jolt it away from him, like a child caught misbehaving. I know what Craig has just seen. Me, my eyes closed, the two of us leaning in to kiss. He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me, and I don't mean that in any kind of figurative sense. I won't make it to set, tomorrow. 

_Look at you. You're scared. A frightened child._

 

The tension hits suddenly, the warm air in the pub becoming suffocating. I sit up a little straighter. I can't quite look Craig in the eye, and my inner Moriarty mocks my weakness. He's right. Who am I? Man or mouse?

 

"Yes?" I say. I'm intending the word to be crisp, challenging, but it almost dies in my throat - and comes out sounding strangled. 

 

_Idiot._

 

Craig's eyes flash. He was no doubt expecting me to leap up, away from Sebastian, to start apologising right away... but that rage is gone in a second, and he smiles amenably, and takes a few steps closer. He slides his bulk into our booth and sits down. I lean back, my ribs aching as I sit as far back against the booth as I can. 

_Look at you. Look at what he's done to you._

I stand, not wanting whatever this is to happen. It's all happened so quickly. It could be a matter of seconds before the fists start flying. His eyes are hard, black. If I go with him now, nobody will get hurt. 

 

_You will._

 

"Let's go." I say to Craig, the shadow of a plea in my voice, much to my burning shame. But if I can stop things escalating, it might be better for me in the long run. 

 

Sebastian reaches up, and takes my hand. In full view. I look down at him, aghast, trying to keep my expression carefully composed. Is he trying to get me killed?  
  
"You haven't finished your food."

 

I glance across at Craig, who smiles. Predatory. I sink back down into the seat, and Sebastian's hand gives mine the barest of squeezes. My heart thuds. I'm going to kill Sebastian myself. 

 

_No going back now._

 

"Don't let me interrupt." Craig drawls, watching us with amusement, though I can see him plotting my punishment already. The predictable mind of a thug. He waves two fingers to the barman for a drink. 

 

"Are you having another?" He asks Sebastian, his thick drawl as casual as if he and Sebastian were good friends. But I can hear it. The malice, the rage bubbling beneath. I sit still as I watch him, my lips pursed together. 

 

"What do you want, Craig?"  Sebastian asks, flat. I resist the urge to close my eyes, to pull Sebastian from the booth. It's little comfort that he was a soldier. He's an actor now, and one hard punch to the face could throw off Honsson's movie for days. Weeks. Ruin his career.

 

"What do I want?"  Craig repeats, and then smiles, tilting his head, pretending to think for a moment. It's dangerous, this deceivingly calm voice. His mouth turns down into an ugly grimace, and he leans across the table just a touch. He's looking at me. "Tell me, Jim. What do I want?" 

 

Our food is going cold in front of us. In my silence, Craig picks up a fork, helps himself to a piece of lasagna. I watch him. I can't find my voice. My throat's thick, no matter how many insults, however many quips run through my head. I'm frozen solid. 

 

 _Weak. Spineless_.

 

Craig spits that lasagna back into the bowl, pulling a face and making a sound of disgust. Sebastian twitches, muscles taut in his arms beside me. The barman looks over, cautious.   
  
"You want me to go home with you." I say at last, careful, the words finally coming. He might be giving me a chance.

 

Craig smiles, ugly. I look at Sebastian, and my request is clear. Let me go. 

 

Let go of my hand. 

 

"...And he's not going."

 

Craig raises an eyebrow, tilts his head infinitesimally, like he hasn't heard him. Like he's daring him to say it again.  His tone is still innocently calm, a warning. "I'm sorry?"

 

I can smell alcohol on his breath, and that's an even worse sign.

 

"Sebastian." I say, still looking at my co-star, my tone reasoning. It won't be that bad. He can't kill me. He can't even maim me above the collar. He needs me to succeed, too. 

 

Though, he's been drinking. His judgement may be... skewed.

 

"I said."  Sebastian replies calmly, smiling at Craig. "He's not going with you."

 

"Well, Sebastian, I think that's up to Jim. Don't you?"

 

Craig sounds so amenable. His tone is deceivingly kind, and he even shoots Sebastian a wink before he looks at me. I might be eighty per cent sure that I'll survive this beating, but right now, in this second, part of me wonders if I'd want to. If the pay-off will ever be worth this cost.

 

_Coward._

_"_ Jim?" Craig prompts, and there's a warning tone to his voice, sing song. I could take my chance, now. I could go home with him. Push away Sebastian's advances, his need to play the hero. 

 

But I risk putting myself into Craig's hands, drunk and dangerous. The darkness I see in those eyes is enough to make Moriarty shiver.

 

"... I think I'll stay with friends tonight."

 

The words are the most defiant I've ever spoken to Craig, and they still sound sickeningly, pathetically weak in my mouth. Moriarty screams at me from within.

 

_You're ruining it._

 

It's just a second. Just a split second. Craig starts to smile - but then he's lunging across the table for me, and Sebastian is much quicker than I am. He catches Craig's wrist, slams his arm into the table, and has his other hand at the man's throat before he can touch me. I'm on my feet. At the heavy clatter of the bowls and cutlery, the barman jumps, running over, the old men looking at us  - the bar having gone deathly silent. 

 

"I think you ought to go." Sebastian says, and I can tell it's with a lot of restraint that he says only that. That he doesn't punch him in the face. Craig's still got one free hand, and I'm standing, watching him as his eyes swivel, seeing that the whole pub is watching. There's nothing he can do. 

 

_One day I'll drive a knife into you Craig. And again. And again._

 

A moment passes, and then he pulls himself out of Sebastian's grasp with a rough tug, lasagna down his front. He glares at my co-star, and then forces his way out of the booth, the bar man poised to intervene. Sebastian's hand curls around mine again, for comfort, but I pull it free, facing Craig with a confidence all my own. My heart still thuds, and I know I'll have to go back to him yet, but for now... for now, I have a temporary reprieve.

 

He must misinterpret that look, because I think I see a flicker of relief in those black eyes. He holds out a hand towards me. I don't take it.

 

"...I'll see you tomorrow, Craig. Okay?"

 

The ugly grimace returns, and if the rest of the pub weren't poised to step in, and Sebastian standing over him, I think he might take his chances with throwing another punch.

 

But as it is, he just roars, swipes our glasses off the table, and marches from the pub, staggering in his rage.  
  
\--

 

 


	11. The Flat

"Did you see his face?" Sebastian laughs, exultant as we leave the pub together at last, rosy-cheeked and a little bit drunker than when we arrived. We'd stayed for three more drinks apiece since Craig left, mainly to try and recapture the cosy atmosphere that he'd ruined.

 

I'm smiling myself, but can't help but cast a look around the darkened car park, expecting him to be laying in wait for us. To get us alone. To wait until Sebastian's weakened by drink or to give himself time to get a weapon. It's not the fear talking. I'm not afraid. I'm Moriarty - a crime boss. I'm being pragmatic, logical.

 

There's no sign of him, and soon Sebastian's hand finds mine, large and warm, guiding me back along the road towards the warehouse. I let him, for the time being. I've reluctantly accepted the offer to stay on his sofa tonight. 

 

"...I thought his head was going to explode." I agree, though I'm still looking around myself as we walk along the road, a little paranoid. We're walking under streetlights. Anyone could be hiding out there in the darkness... watching. The alcohol is warm in my stomach, but my defiance tonight will cost me dearly. Sebastian hasn't yet said anything about me going back. I know he won't want to consider it. But I'm not his problem.  
  
He squeezes my fingers, those blue eyes earnest when they find mine. His words are a mutter, earnest and furious. 

 

"What I wouldn't give to punch him in the fucking -"  
  
"No." I say, firmly, and he rolls his eyes.  "You'll only get me in more trouble." I pause, pull my hand away. "And besides... if anyone's punching him in the face, it's me."  
  
"Spoilsport."

 

I smile at that. But I know that I can't afford to burn all my bridges just yet. If things go badly... if the film gets scrapped, funding pulled or doesn't make it to the big screen... I'll still be a nobody. And all of it will be for nothing. No reputation, no international notoriety. That's what I want. Whatever I do with it when I have it is my business. But I need to get it first. And shameful as it is, Craig's got the connections I need. I can endure a little bit more. 

 

"You're very fast." I comment, as we begin to near the warehouse, lights still shining luminously in the darkness. My arms are folded over my chest. "You grabbed his arm before I could even flinch."  
  
Sebastian smiles, and I think he's just going to let it go, before he reveals;  "...I was a sniper. Sharpshooter reflexes."

 

I raise my eyebrows, impressed, and glance at him. There's a rather proud little smile on his lips, though it becomes bittersweet after a moment. "What?"  
  
"Miss it, sometimes. The thrill."

 

I laugh in spite of myself, just a little chuckle at the irony of it all. "If I'd met you a year ago..."

 

"I was still acting a year ago." Sebastian muses, leading me to one of the idling cars, and helping me inside. I wince at the drag of my ribs. He slides in beside me. "I was doing a Greek play in the west end."

 

He gives the driver his address and we set off. I can't help looking in the rearview mirror, like I'm expecting Craig to be watching us go. My temporary retrieve is just for a night.

 

"What would you want with an old sharpshooter, a year ago, anyway?"

 

I shrug, watch the darkened countryside fly by the window. "...Can be useful. Laser focus."  
  
"In sales?" He mocks, and I smile, all innocence.   
  
"Never said I worked in sales."

 

"So what, then?"

 

I turn my attention back to the window, and after a moment, he sighs. I smile when he leans over, and presses a tipsy kiss to my cheek, words low and amused.  
  
"...You're a mystery, James Moriarty."  
  


He doesn't know the half of it.

 

\--

 

Sebastian's penthouse is at the top of a block by the Southbank, and even more luxurious than Craig's place. Even more luxurious than my old hotel room, a five star place, which I'd pay for for weeks in advance - always knowing that I could need to leave at a moment's notice. A good internet connection, phone signal and a stocked minibar was all I'd need. Never worth buying a flat. 

 

"You like it?"  
  


It's a lot like Sebastian himself. Practical and good looking. The floors are wooden, and the views look out onto a beautiful glittering skyline, the walls of the living room all glass. The kitchen is small but sleek, the bathroom bigger and shiny, with a high tech shower and huge, curved bath tub. There's a fluffy rug on the living room carpet, and a bookcase that's full. No television - which I suppose is quite humbling, for a big actor.  True to Sebastian's word, the L shaped sofa is luxurious; a soft, dense fabric and thick cushions, a grey throw draped over the back.There's a door to one side of the room. His bedroom, no doubt. 

 

"It's very you. Nice view."  
  
"You saying I'm a nice view?" Sebastian teases, shrugging off his jacket and setting it on the side, and I give him a look, eyebrow raised coyly.   
  
"I might be."

 

He takes a few steps closer to me, and then his hands find my waist, pulling me a little closer. We're both still a little tipsy, and I lean into that kiss hungrily, craving the affection that I've denied myself for months. Without the promise of Craig watching us, I feel able to relax more, but it's dangerous... I'm getting too involved, too quickly. I try to remind myself that we only met three days ago. That we've still got the entirety of a film to shoot, and that I'm still tied to a violent but necessary casting director. 

 

I pull back after a moment, and Sebastian's blue eyes are  hungry on my own. 

 

"...I want you." He murmurs against my lips, and my hand curls into his t shirt, dragging him closer. I don't know how, but we end up against the wall, grinding against one another like teenagers, one of Sebastian's hands braced beside me. His tongue is in my mouth, and it's fucking heavenly, addictive - that warm, muscled body pressed flush against me. My resolve wavers, and I moan, low. I'm forgetting why I can't do this, again. Sebastian's mouth travels down, and his teeth graze over the skin of my neck, before he sucks a kiss there, my eyes fluttering closed.  
  
"Not too hard.." I insist, thinking more about Craig than Chelsea the make-up artist tomorrow, how he'd take to someone else putting bruises on me.

_You're dead. You're already dead._

 

Sebastian gives a throaty chuckle, and kisses his way back along the line of my jaw - until I manage to push him back, using every ounce of my remaining willpower.

 

He pauses, hand still braced on the wall beside me. I can see his chest rise and fall, his eyes, dark and ready. I want him, too.  
  
"... I can't."

 

I'm expecting to see disappointment flicker across his expression - even anger, maybe, but he just shakes his head, wry.

 

"...Yeah. I know."

 

His acceptance makes me want to break the rules even more, and I treat myself to another stolen kiss, slow and languorous. 

 

_Why not? I'm already going to pay for this._

 

When I pull back again, we're both panting. He's still pressed against me. 

  
"I want to. I just can't."

 

Not yet. Not while I'm still black and blue. Not while my body still aches, just at the slightest strained movement. I don't want him to treat me delicately, to have to coax me back to life. 

 

Not while I'm still with Craig. Because Craig will know. And he'll make sure nobody else can touch me again.

 

I doubt I could even bring myself to let Sebastian see my battered body, anyway.

 

_Coward._

 

"...Cup of tea?"  Sebastian says at last, a hand ghosting over my cheek, thumb stroking the skin. He's so soft with me. It makes my throat thick, after being at Craig's hands for so long. 

 

I laugh quietly, looking away. It seems so pathetic. But I need a friend right now, and not a lover. Craig still stands between us, and he's not even here anymore.  "...Cup of tea sounds great."

 

_A friend. When have you ever had one of those?_

 

\--

 

I make the drinks in the kitchen while Sebastian makes up the sofa with sheets and a duvet, despite my protestations that I'll be fine with just the throw. He's not letting me sleep there anyway, insisting I take the bed. I'd rolled my eyes, scoffed at his chivalry. Forever rejecting the idea of someone doing something for me. I don't need that. I don't need coddling. I'm still embarrassed about his heroism at the bar. 

 

I'd have gone home with Craig.

 

"Well, fine." Sebastian laughs, taking the tea when I pass it to him and sitting down on the impromptu bed. "Let's just say, I really enjoy sleeping on the sofa. You'll be doing me a favour."

 

I sit beside him and look out onto the skyline, the cup steaming in my hands. I marvel at London - I wonder where Viana and Mansfield are now, and the men I used to control. Whether somehow, they've kept it all going, or whether it crumbled into dust the moment I left.  Whether they're holding onto hopes of my return. While I'm lost in thought, Sebastian's phone begins to ring. He answers it, sitting back on the sofa, his eyes on me. Watching as I lift my cup to my lips and drink. It's a difficult kind of peace. 

 

_He'll punish you for taking him to bed anyway. Even if you don't. What are you waiting for?_

 

"Hello? ....Don't worry. No, I just got in...."  A pause.  "...Shit. Really? No.. fine  by me. I'd hoped to hit the gym the day before, though. Yeah. No, it's fine. Thanks for letting me know."  
  
I sense that something has happened, and watch him as he hangs up the phone, and sets the handset down on the coffee table with a clatter. "...Everything alright?"  
  
"Yeah." He sighs, "We've got new lines to learn. They've moved the barn scene to tomorrow. Set's finished."  
  
\--

 

I grow still, hands tight around my tea cup. Fuck. I was supposed to have weeks... I saw them building it, piece by piece, wood and hay - a giant thing, how can it possibly be finished? 

 

Can Honsson really move the scene, just like that? We're supposed to be doing three other scenes tomorrow. Has it replaced one of them? Are we doing four, instead?

 

"They can't have. " I say, and there's dull irritation in the words. I'm frowning, Sebastian looking over at me in his surprise. He sets down his cup.  
  
"...What's up?"

 

"...  It's not.. time."  I say pathetically, sounding more annoyed than anything else and Sebastian just frowns at me, trying to understand. Something clicks in his mind - I see it happen.  
  
"It's not romantic." He assures me, picking up his tea cup. "...It's the least romantic thing ever. It's not... you know. They'll put you in a cock sock, or something."  
  
He chuckles at the idea, shaking his head, but the smile fades after a moment, my expression still anxious.

 

"...You should have asked for a body double in your contract."  
  
"I didn't negotiate my contract." I say numbly, and Sebastian nods. Of course not. I slept my way in. "Do   _you_ have a body double?"

 

I'm suddenly gripped by the mortifying vision of rolling around in the hay with a naked actor that isn't Sebastian.  
  
"...Nah. Never saw the point of it, really."

 

I nod, quiet. Sip my drink. There's a long pause, and at last Sebastian reaches for me. He brings my hand to his lips, and kisses the back. I give him a look, flat. That's not allowed. 

 

He grins at me, and then frees my hand. Friends.

 

 "...You're really that nervous?"

 

I bite the inside of my cheek. My voice is resigned. I shake my head. Ashamed.  
  
"...I'm covered in bruises, Sebastian. My body's black. Battered."

 

He's silent for a long moment, and I hang my head. I let this happen. I didn't even think. I thought it was so clever, thought I was lucky, only having to show my face above the Victorian tunics. I forgot about this scene. It isn't scheduled for at least a week, and I'd thought that the bruises might go down... Though I realise now that I'd always have been in trouble. The marks would always have remained - no doubt along with new ones, if I'd gone home with Craig this evening. 

 

"Can I see?"

 

The words are gentle, and disgust burns in my chest. I shake my head, knowing where this will go. Where we both want it to go. I can't let that happen.  
  
"I won't touch you." Sebastian assures. "I just want to see... what we can do."

 

I look at him dubiously and he watches me earnestly. He's telling the truth. What can it hurt?

 

_He's going to laugh at you. You're pathetic. Broken._

 

I stand up slowly and set down my cup. I gingerly peel off my t shirt and let it drop onto the floor, before taking down my trousers, stepping out of them with another slight jolt to the bruising. I stand, hands curled into embarrassed fists at my sides, in my boxer shorts, my cheeks a fiery red. I keep my head bowed, not looking at him. Not wanting to see the pity in his eyes. I know how it must look. Bandaged, bloodied, bruised. I don't think I've ever felt less like Moriarty. Looking down, I can see the blacked skin, parts beginning to purple now. The finger marks on my thighs. I'm mortified that he'll see them.  
  
"I can't film like this. They'll have to reschedule." I mutter, matter of fact. I fold my arms over my bare chest.

 

Sebastian ducks his head, finding my gaze. "Listen to me," He says, earnest. "..You're fine."

 

I scoff, make to turn away, but he catches me.   
  
"No. Listen. You are. You're perfect."  I can't hold his gaze, and pull a face at him. It's scathing. I'm not used to being treated with kindness. "...And we're going to see Bev and Chelsea, first thing in the morning. We'll go early, alright?"  
  
"... What...-"  
  
"They're not just make-up. They're prosthetics. They're used to covering up all sorts. Tattoos, my scar.. I've done a nude scene before, and they covered it with some kind of skin paste. Thick make-up. It's not pleasant, but it'll do the job. And it's not as bad as you think. Right?"  
  
He sounds so hopeful, so determined, that I purse my lips flat and just nod once in agreement - hoping that he knows what he's talking about. That Honsson isn't going to kick off, cancel the filming when they see what state I'm in. 

 

".And what exactly do I tell them?"

 

A pause, as Sebastian thinks.

 

"...You got hit by a car?" He suggests, and there's a touch of dark, bitter amusement in his tone. Anger, too. My injuries are that bad. 

 

"I told them I got mugged."  
  
"Then we stick with that."

 

 Part of me wishes that I could tell Sebastian what I used to be, who I used to be, just so he'll have a little more respect for me. I can't see how he could see me with anything more than pity, with how I look right now. Through Viana and Mansfield's eyes, I was a God. Untouchable. Perhaps I adopted that mindset a little too literally. It's laughable now.

 

 _Who are you?_  
  
"Stop thinking." He tells me quietly, and I look away. He holds up my clothes, but I shake my head. It's time for bed, anyway. 

 

"I think I'm going to turn in." A beat. "Thanks."

 

Thanks for being a friend. Thanks for not pushing it too far.

 

Thanks for not letting me go home with him, tonight. Though it'll be worse, next time. 

 

Sebastian leans in and kisses me on the cheek. It's so chaste, so restrained, and I force myself not to lean in and kiss him myself, throw caution to the wind. But we can't. And he doesn't push it.

 

"Goodnight."

 

I manage to take my clothes back with clumsy hands, and nod in reply. I lean in and kiss him on the mouth before I go, just as chaste, but lingering for perhaps a moment too long before I pad barefoot into the bedroom. I close the door behind me, watching him until the last second. The desire in his eyes must be mirrored in my own... but we can't. 

 

We just can't.

 

"Goodnight."   
  


\--

 


	12. The Clay

I wake up to the smell of toast and eggs, and for a minute, I don't know where I am. Panic grips me and I try and sit up straight, but I'm tangled in bed sheets, and when I glance to the side, a picture of a couple looks back at me.

 

I'm startled - the man in the photograph looks so much like Sebastian that I think it must be him in his army days, dressed up in his uniform. But a second look, propped on my elbows, tells me that it isn't. The eyes are a little different, brown I think, the build broader, and the photo must be twenty, thirty years old. I tilt my head, and see the resemblances in the woman standing beside him. The blue eyes, and crooked smile. These are Sebastian's parents. 

 

It reminds me where I am at least, and I can extricate myself from the sheets, rub my eyes, a faint headache from last night's alcohol.

 

_You let Craig go home alone last night._

_He's going to kill you._

 

I curse at the pull of my ribs as I stretch, the throb of my bruises. I remember Craig's flashing, dark eyes in the pub last night. He doesn't like not getting what he wants, and what seemed like a good idea last night, now seems idiotic. I've endangered Sebastian, as well as making it worse myself. And Sebastian is so easy to hurt. If he was one of my marks back as Moriarty, I'd have been gleeful. 

 

His career is based on his looks, his ability to move. A broken leg, a bad enough bruise...  A facial scar...  

 

I roll over onto my stomach, putting it from my mind. I've made my bed, and now I have to lay in it.

 

...A laptop sits on the floor by the bed, a light blinking, and I reach for it without thinking. I've missed my contact with the online world. I'd left my old computer behind, burnt the hard drive. And Craig wasn't good at sharing.

 

Within minutes, curiosity overcomes me and I'm logged in to my emails, fingers resting at my lips. Urgent requests for instructions, for jobs, for assistance, from months ago. A few warnings, a few threats. A few emails from my men, informing me that they were going to look elsewhere. A few more recent jobs, requests for my services - and I read them through, guiltily intrigued. My fingers twitch, and I glance at the door.

 

There are no messages from Viana or Mansfield. 

 

My executives, my business managers, and yet an eerie silence on their front. I've never met two people so loyal, especially considering that neither have ever seen my face. We'd sorted everything out over the phone, I no longer dabbled in face to face confrontation with my enemies, not after Mr Policeman pulled the gun. I took on Mansfield and Viana to do it all for me. And they're good. Fuck, are they good. Viana makes me think of the female equivalent of myself - she's small, ferocious, those dark eyes as their most dangerous when the targets assume that femininity makes her weak. 

 

And Mansfield is as ruthless as they come. A former marine. I've seen him gutting men with his bare hands. He gets a poisonous glint in his eye, and he can kill without another word. Without any reason, sometimes. Without cause, which created problems when I first hired him. Yet I've heard him laughing for twenty minutes about a cat video on the internet. I've seen Viana shed a tear for orphan appeals on the television. I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, but I trusted them. They're ferocious, capable, loyal to me. And yet... nothing. Perhaps they simply...  trust that I'll come back, like loyal dogs awaiting an owner's homecoming. 

 

If only they knew where I was. What I was putting myself through to try and achieve clean notoriety.

 

I can't resist. I shoot off a wordless message to them each, with details of those waiting jobs attached. They'll know what to do. Can't hurt to get a last couple of commissions under my belt, before I write it off completely. Save up, protect myself, just in case the film doesn't work out. Maybe I wouldn't have to beg Craig to put me on another... I hate to think about what he'd ask, in return.

 

"You hungry?"

 

Sebastian calls from the living room, and I jump, exit all the programs and slam the laptop shut in half a second. My heart thuds, and I slip it back onto the floor just before he opens the door, spatula in hand, grinning at me.   
  
"We've probably got about ten minutes before we have to leave."

 

"And you decided to _cook?_ "  
  
"What can I say? Don't often have guests."

  
I roll my eyes, purse my lips at the sweet gesture. "I'm coming."

 

I glance back at the laptop as I leave the room, hoping I haven't made a big mistake. It's just insurance, I tell myself. Just a little... financial cushioning. 

 

I'm  _not_  going back.

 

\--

 

"So do the men you bring home usually like looking at your parents while you fuck, or...?"  
  


The question is brazen, and Sebastian looks startled before he laughs, the two of us in the car en route to the set. We're two hours early for our call time, not sure how long it'll take the girls to cover me in the full body make-up - if they can even do it. 

 

"Men and women, actually."  
  


"You bat for both teams."

 

Sebastian rolls his eyes, and I smile. It's nice to talk about something that isn't my past, or Craig.

 

"In a matter of speaking. And no, I usually put it away."  
  


"Right."  
  
"You think it's weird."

 

"...No."  
  
"Does it make it less weird if I tell you that he's dead? And that most people don't ask questions when it's in the bedroom? You leave it in the lounge, you're inviting discussion."  
  
I hadn't thought of that. I grimace. "...I'm sorry."

 

Sebastian shrugs. "You didn't know."  
  
"...You look like him."  
  
He looks at me sideways. "Aren't you going to ask me how he died?"

 

I just smile sympathetically, having already guessed from the uniform. "The army." I say flatly, simply, the only explanation that's obvious. To my surprise, Sebastian cracks a smile - amused, but sad at the same time.  
  
"Actually, no."

 

I'm intrigued. I turn to ask, but we've arrived at set, and then we're pacing towards the doors, the day absolutely freezing. The cold catches me off guard, having been a touch warmer in central London, and still enveloped in the cosy glow of Sebastian's flat. The grass around the warehouse is frozen stiff, frosted white, and the crew run around in thick gloves and fleeces. Our breath gusts in front of us - and we make it into the warehouse still shivering, the place not much warmer.

 

Fun day for a sex scene.  
  
"Christ."

 

I'm looking around for Craig straight away, even though I know that he won't be here yet. The first scene isn't for another hour, and  _our_  first scene isn't for another two after that. I feel eyes on us as Sebastian takes my hand in his, glances shared between crew members, whispers in the makeshift corridors. I quickly pull mine free, and Sebastian rolls his eyes. 'Just friends' don't hold hands. And everyone knows that Craig and I are together. He'll be furious if he hears the gossip. Even if he's already seen enough to confirm its truth.

 

"Come on. I can see Chelsea."

 

\--

 

"Well, it's not going to be easy."  
  
I'm standing in my pants again in front of Chelsea and Bev, a grimace on my face at the pair of them analysing me like an abstract painting.  
  
"But can you do it?" Sebastian prompts, and Bev walks around me again, her lips pursed in thought.  
  
"Yes." She says at last. "...We can do it."  
  
"But you'll have to go without bandages." Chelsea points out, and I just nod, relieved that it can go ahead. I hold out my arms, and Sebastian peels back the tape that Geraldine so carefully applied, and begins to unwind the bandages from my chest. I grit my teeth as my ribs throb, and Bev swears under her breath at the sight of me.   
  
"...What did you say happened again?"  
  
"He was mugged." Chelsea says carefully, but they share a look, and I know they don't believe it. I lower my arms, and Sebastian takes a seat by the door. This is going to take a while. 

 

"Right."  Bev puts her hands on her hips, and Chelsea disappears, coming back with tubes and tubes of what looks like paint - and sponges. "Let's get started." 

 

\--

 

In the end, it takes the full two and a half hours that we have, Bev and Chelsea as talented as they are, but taking painstaking care with their artistry. My joints are stiff when they finally let me go to costume, and Sebastian is waiting outside the pod for me - having politely stepped out when the girls needed to get to my arse and upper thighs. Craig's onslaught had no bounds, after all. I'm wearing a flimsy gown, and what feels like a thong underneath, loose enough not to rub against the make-up. It's actually more of a thin clay than a paint, but I'm pleasantly surprised by how it looks - you can't see a thing. It's as if my whole body is pristine, fresh, not a scratch or blemish on me. It looks natural, and yet I feel like an iced cake, my skin just that little bit heavier. They've even sprayed me with some kind of setting spray, to stop it rubbing - though as a clay, it's already more enduring than paint.  
  
"Wow."  Sebastian says simply when he sees me, though it's only a triangle of my chest that's visible through the gown. He saw enough, though. Two and a half hours ago, that triangle was black. 

 

"The magic of film." I muse, holding my arms out. "Do we need to go to costume?"

 

"Yeah. You'll have to put the tunic and everything over it, and pray it doesn't come off."  
  
"I don't think it will unless I really scrub at it. Made of strong stuff."

 

"Just like you."

 

_Isn't it rather the opposite?_

 

I roll my eyes, and he laughs at me, before we head together to the costume pod - where our clothes are ready and waiting. It's going to take me a damn sight longer to get ready than Sebastian, and so I tell him I'll meet him on set. 

 

He offers to help, and I give him another flat look - pushing his luck. 

 

"Can't blame a guy for trying. See you there." After a glance to make sure the costumiers are all occupied, Sebastian kisses me slowly, full on the mouth. I don't resist, but I'm angry at myself for not, my body reacting wholeheartedly. I finally pull back in exasperation, batting Sebastian away. 'Just friends' has never been such a tenuous statement.

 

"Stop it. You'll cause a scene."

 

"I'm just rehearsing!" He insists. I close the door on his grin.

 

\--

 

I have to get dressed ridiculously slowly, avoiding smudging or smearing the clay, though it's fairly resilient. I hear Sebastian head out, and I'm following after him around twenty minutes later - though I know the moment I step onto set that something is wrong. There are whispers, anxious faces, and the scene isn't ready. Something's happened. 

 

Eleanor stands with a tray of coffees, biting her thumbnail, and I head over to her, being careful with my costume.   
  
"What's going on?"  
  


She jumps a little, and then looks at me a little surprisedly. She laughs with a kind of relieved disbelief, and calls for Honsson - who had been standing on the edge of the set, yelling something into his phone. He turns around, and looks equally as relieved when he sees me. He marches over.

 

"Jesus Christ, you're here!"

 

I frown at him, confused. "I've been here for hours. What's wrong?"  
  
"Mason hasn't shown up. We'd assumed you'd be coming with him."

 

"Oh..."  I purse my lips, surprised and wonder where Craig is. Whether he's avoiding me, whether he got off his face drunk last night. Or whether he's... planning. "No. I came alone."  
  
"Well thank fuck for that."  Honsson slaps me on the back, and I pray to God that none of that clay has dislodged. Still seemingly irritated about Craig's absence, the director sits down in his seat, and takes a long drink of water, before calling for silence. "We have our David! Someone get Seb from the green room, and we're ready to go. Crisis over."

 

He shakes his head, and I look around, the casting assistants running around like headless chickens, trying to manage the supporting artists alone. Where is he? 

 

Sebastian heads onto set, and I take my first opportunity to look around the 'barn'. It's impressive - high ceilinged wood, varnished and treated to look old and dilapidated, weather worn. There's hay in one corner, bales and bales of it, the shell of a disused cart in the other.  Damp patches on the floor and a dripping water effect make the whole thing seem real, even though again, the wall is missing, the lights are angled and technological, and cameras sit, positioned to go. 

 

I look around at everyone, all the different crew members standing by, and suddenly feel self-conscious, knowing that I'm going to be pretty much naked in front of all these people in half a scene's time. 

_Coward. Haven't you already used your body for your own gain? What's the difference?_

 

Sebastian notices my hesitancy.  

 

"Don't worry." He murmurs, "It'll be a closed set for that bit. Honsson and camera guys only. But we need to do the first half."  
  


Relieved, I lean in to tell him;  "...Craig hasn't shown up."  
  


Sebastian frowns for a moment, in thought. But then he shakes his head. We're manoeuvred into position, ready to start David and Chester's dash into the barn from the rain, and resulting, impassioned conversation.   
  
"...I'm not complaining."

 

He's right. I'm not sure I could do this under Craig's prying eye.

 

\--

 

We get the first half of the scene in three takes, and Honsson seems pleased. It's passionate, it's needy, it's David and Chester tearing at one another's clothes, David protesting while Chester tries to talk him into it - and eventually succeeds. I don't miss the irony of Sebastian and my current situation. They fall into the hay bales, which is where our next scene picks up - and almost as soon as he calls CUT, Honsson is calling for a closed set. 

 

I can still taste Sebastian in my mouth, the scene having involved a fair few kisses, and then three takes - tripling the amount. Those stiff kisses of yesterday are forgotten, and Sebastian seems to be putting everything he can into the role. It's like he's trying to piss me off - his hands all over my body, his lips on mine for seconds too long - but even if it's odd and manufactured like this, our heads tipped unnaturally to get the right angle... I can't pretend that I'm not enjoying it. 

 

 I change down into just that flimsy dressing gown for the next section, and swap the thong for a 'cock sock' - though it's instantly too mortifying. When Honsson sees my unease, he tells me to just take it off.  
  
"Nothing to be ashamed of, James. If it makes it easier."

 

I take his advice, and to my surprise, I much prefer being naked under the gown than feeling like I've got a damned... puppet where it shouldn't be. Sebastian turns down the offer of a sock point blank, and rare nerves dance in my chest as he approaches in his robe. I'm suddenly not sure that I can do this.

 

_Pathetic._

 

I stand, stiff and uncomfortable at the edge of the set, the door closing and just the skeleton crew remaining - two male cameramen, Honsson, Sebastian and me. Chelsea and Bev finish touching up our make-up, and then they're gone too, and Honsson is calling for us to get into position. 

 

I don't move. 

 

"James. Into the hay, please."  
  
Nothing. I can see Sebastian, already laying in his gown, bare legs and chest exposed, looking over curiously.

 

"I just need a minute." I call back, but I'm wishing I'd thought to rehearse this. The idea of making sex noises, of rubbing myself up against Sebastian after everything that's happened... After everything that  _hasn't_  happened..

 

 The crew wait patiently, but I'm bottling it, ready to head to my trailer and feign sickness. I slip out into the bathroom, leaning over the sink and looking at myself. My waxy chest, covered in clay. 

 

"...Hey."  Sebastian's stepped in after me, and I glance up at him with a glare.

 

"Don't judge me."  
  
"It's your first time." He says, and I look back at him scathingly for the joke. He just laughs, quiet.  
  
"Sorry. But come on. It's funny."

 

"I'm glad you think so."  I scoff, and glare at myself in the mirror. "I don't want to pretend all that. It's humiliating."

  
"Welcome to acting." 

 

 A beat, and Sebastian runs a hand over the back of my neck, gentle. It's an innocent enough move - we could be 'friends', but it still sends a shiver into my stomach.  He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to my neck.

 

"Sebastian.." I warn. 

 

His lips are warm, and he ends the kiss with a graze of his teeth over the skin. "... You know... it doesn't have to be a  _total_  pretense..."

 

\--


	13. The Barn

We head back onto set together. I'm still uneasy, but as a new actor, this is just something I have to get through.

 

There seems to be a lot that I 'just have to get through', at the moment.

 

My plan is just to let Sebastian do whatever the hell he wants, and follow him. It takes a lot of pressure off, that way. I won't feel like they're expecting me to 'perform' so much. Acting is reacting.

 

Sebastian is just as naked as I am beneath his gown, but he doesn't even blush as he shrugs it off and tosses it off the set, standing as naked as the day he was born. He's half hard and an impressive size, and I roll my eyes at his bravado, that move decidedly not helping my unease, still in my own robe. He just smiles good-naturedly, steps forward and peels it off for me. I stand awkwardly, suddenly asking myself why I'm here, Jim Moriarty, bare-arsed on a film set. At least they've turned the heating up to the highest notch.  I glance around, but the camera men look bored, talking to each other, and Honsson just gives a thumbs up, examining the frame. 

 

We settle down into the hay, finding our positions - David lays on his back, while Chester leans over him, Chester's bare arse and David's face over his shoulder the focal point for this first take. Sebastian's had some of that clay put on his scar, too - Chelsea, while I was being finished up by Bev. I still haven't seen it. The scar, I mean. Sebastian's arse too, come to that. 

 

I lay down on my back, getting as comfortable as I can, naked in the hay. It's not so bad. The floor is cushioned somehow, the concrete effect just for show. "...You've got a beautiful  body." I murmur to Sebastian, just trying to diffuse some of the tension, and he smiles back at me - more of a smirk, as he crawls over me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. He's loving this. Great friends. His cock doesn't touch me, but I swear I can feel the heat of it, hanging almost within reach. My words are a warning, half joking.  "...Keep that thing away from me."

 

He seems to ignore my words as Honsson counts us in. Instead, he dips his head down, and murmurs by my ear, low and matter of fact. "...I want to fuck you senseless."

 

"And. ACTION!"

 

\--

 

Those words send a delicious and unexpected heat straight down into my stomach, and I feel my own cock throb and swell, my lips parting in surprise. Sebastian has begun to move, bracing himself over me on his hands - and I know his muscled back must look impressive at this angle.   
  
"...David..." He gasps, grunts, the words low. "...David.."

 

I try and play my part for the camera as best I can, my eyes closed and my mouth open just slightly, David obviously a submissive man - but I jolt when I feel Sebastian dip a little lower, and press himself against me. 

 

This is definitely not 'friend' territory.

 

His cock rubs against mine, and he's fully hard now, slick at the tip.. A warning sound leaves me, halfway between a growl and a gasp, but I can't push him away unless I ruin the take. He knows that of course, and just ruts a little more slowly -and I bite my tongue against a curse, the hands that are supposed to be curled in the hay coming to wrap around Sebastian's neck instead. But Honsson doesn't stop us. We rock together, and I feel myself throbbing, feel heat pool low in my stomach as Sebastian dips his head and kisses me, hard. His tongue pushes its way into my mouth and I moan, low and breathy, and there's nothing about this that's friendly, not even 'acting', really..

 

"CUT! Stay where you are, guys!"  Honsson calls, and the cameraman are lifting their cameras, moving the tripods to get a new angle, this time from the back - behind the hay bales, to get Sebastian's face. We both still, waiting for the new set-up, and Sebastian dips his head again, mouth by my ear. 

 

"I'm going to make you scream my name..."

 

The purr makes my insides hot, but I glower at him, not one to be beaten so easily. He's playing dirty. I can play, too. I lift my hips just an inch, rub against him again, and breathe my own response.   
  
"...I'll bet you taste amazing.."

 

Sebastian grinds his hips against me in response, and a gasp catches in my throat, the bastard. Honsson glances over, and I cough, feigning my best 'bored' expression, since we're not filming yet. He takes his seat again, and counts us back down to ACTION.

 

We start moving at the same time, in a rhythm now, and I put my arms above my head, fingers curling around the string of the hay bales, letting Chester take David however he wants. Sebastian's pupils are blown wide, and he manages to keep his chest forward somehow, hiding the fact that our bare cocks are rutting together, slick with precome. Heat is pooling in my stomach, and if I don't pull myself together, this is going to be an embarrassing mess. 

 

"...Chester.." I moan, giving my best impression of a porn star, as mortifying as it is - arching my back a little more and letting my eyes slip closed. Sebastian reaches down, grips my head and kisses me hard, and I hear Honsson fidget in his seat in discomfort - because that bit wasn't in the script. I moan a little into Sebastian's mouth, and our rhythm is increasing, the warm floor and scattered hay scratching at my clay coated back, and it's not long now, and I'm going to, I'm going to -

 

"And CUT! I think that's all we need."  Honsson sounds pleased. "Well done, boys. This is the shorter of the two scenes. Only one more to go."  
  
"Two?" I breathe in exasperation, having only remembered reading this one. My cock is throbbing, my senses heightened, my body on the very edge of spilling over right here, against Sebastian's stomach.   
  
"Next one's near the end."  Sebastian murmurs, breathless himself, and I meet his gaze, those blue irises little more than a sliver around the blown black of his pupils.  Honsson passes both of us our robes, and we wait until he's turned around to scramble to our feet and put them on, trying to hide the evidence of our mutual arousal. 

 

"Good work, boys. Break for lunch."

 

\--

 

We barely make it into the bathroom, the two of us scrabbling to lock the door before I'm on my knees in front of Sebastian, taking him into my mouth without another thought. He tastes vaguely of the clay, slick with a mixture of both of us, and he hits the back of my throat before I've even consciously decided not to gag. He begins to rock his hips, short and fast, a hand fisting in my hair, and I look up at him, the hunger in those blue eyes making that coil in my stomach curl even tighter. I lap at him with my tongue, and then begin to suck in time with his thrusts - one, two, three before he's coming, spilling over my tongue with a groan, those fingers tight in my hair.

 

Maybe I should be ashamed, but Moriarty has taken over this one, and whatever friendship we were trying to preserve is thrown off course, for the time being. 

 

I lap at him until he's finished, until he's clean, and then swallow, trying to stand. He tugs me to my feet, and then pins me back against the counter, sinking down onto his knees to do the same for me. I haven't had this in over a year, and the sudden sensation - the wet, close heat, is almost too much all at once. I groan, loud and strangled, and let my head tip back, Sebastian bobbing his head with a kind of expert attention, taking me right to the hilt. I'm rutting my hips, cursing under my breath, and then all at once it's over, and I'm emptying myself into his mouth, whiting out into desperate bliss.

 

It all happened so fast. Oh God. What the hell hve we just done?

 

He keeps going, keeps sucking lightly until I'm no longer dizzy, and then he stands and kisses me hard. I taste both of us, and another groan catches in my throat, shuddering at the realisation. Part of me knows that we shouldn't have done that. Hell,  _all_  of me knows that I shouldn't have done that. I blame him. 

 

He grins when he spots my glare, pulling that gown back up over my shoulders.

 

"...Lunch?"  He suggests, and I just shake my head, annoyed.   
  
"You're terrible."  
  
"Well, I thought you thoroughly enjoyed yourself."  
  
"Fuck off. What happened to 'friends'?"

 

"We're still friends."

 

I sigh, exasperated, and run my hands through my hair. "..I need to get back on set. If people find us alone they'll-"  
  
"Assume we just sucked each other off in the bathroom?" 

 

I purse my lips flat, and give him a look.  
  
"Come on," He insists, fastening his own robe. "We just filmed the hardest scene of the film. I think we deserve lunch."

 

I grumble, unhappy with the situation, but let him open the door for me and follow him out. We walk through the warehouse and I hold the robe tight around myself, passing the buffet trolley as we head for costume to change. I still can't see Craig anywhere. It's a blessing, today. God knows what he would have made of all that.

 

"What are you having?" I ask Sebastian, glancing at the food, trying to recreate some semblance of normalcy between us. "For lunch?"

 

 He just grins, devilish.  
  
"Oh, I'm not that hungry. Just had mine."

 

\--  
  


I smack him for that, blushing fiercely. I'm unable to stop looking around myself, sure that the people around us know, and are judging us -  but that bathroom was the only one by the closed set we just used. We're fine. We're fine. 

 

_Whore. If he kills you, you've only provoked him._

 

I make sure Sebastian doesn't hold my hand as we walk back to costume to get changed. He tries a few times, absentmindedly, and I snatch it away, clinging to that last hope of being seen as faithful to Craig. It's not for his benefit. It's for mine. I'm going home tonight, and if he's heard so much as a whisper of this...

 

The cover up is for Sebastian too. As far as most of these people know, Sebastian is a straight actor playing gay. If he's found out, he'll start losing roles. I'm different. The world seems to know about Craig and I... Unfortunately for me.

 

I scrub off some of the clay, and we change into our outfits for the next scenes. I'm on with Donald this time, and after that, it's Sebastian and Geraldine. We probably won't see each other for the rest of the day, and I think, after that little episode, it's probably a good thing. I wonder, lips pursed in my unease,  what Honsson must have been thinking. Nobody is that good an actor.  We go and sit down with our lunch together, and when I glance at Sebastian, there's a smirk at the edge of his lips. I throw a bag of crisps at him, and it hits him in the chest.  

 

\--

 

As I predict, I barely see him for the rest of the day. After my scene with Donald, I head back to the green room, but he's just heading out for the next scene, Geraldine in tow. She greets me with a kiss and a hug, and I thank her again for yesterday. And then they're gone again, Sebastian leaving me with a heated look that I answer with a pointed glare. He just laughs, and winks at me before he goes. I think about his mouth around me, those dirty whispers, his hand gripping my hair when I slid down to my knees... 

 

Craig doesn't turn up at all.

 

I hang around until Sebastian's scene is finished, making excuses, knowing that I don't want to go home. And I know that Sebastian will do all he can to keep me from going. But I'm going to collect my money from beneath the mattress, my clothes from the cupboard... I had to wear Sebastian's underwear to set today, before I could change, and it's humiliating just thinking about it. I'm going to take back what is mine. At the very least, I deserve that.

 

And maybe I'll stay. Maybe he'll apologise again, maybe he'll restrain himself - realise that Sebastian could have taken me from him. Clean up his act.

 

I've almost convinced myself that it'll happen when I find the envelope.

 

 

In my trailer, there's left a pile of cards for me to sign for fans, left by a member of crew, and I'm rather pleased about the task and what it means. The beginnings of fame. I autograph the first in a large and elaborate scrawl before I realise that I've used that signature in the past, and toss it in the bin. I eventually come up with something more refined, focusing on the J this time, more than the M. When I'm finished, I hold the cards up high, smiling. Literally - making a new name for myself.

 

But beneath the stack of cards is an envelope with my name on the front and blindly I assume that it's my paycheck, and open it keenly. It's arrived just in time. I'll be less of a burden on Craig if I have money behind me; honest income, not tied up in offshore banks or accounts under a murderer's name. I slip the paper from the envelope, looking for figures, for my name, but it's not a pay slip at all.. 

 

It's just two words, in Craig's handwriting. The pen has pressed hard into the paper where he's outlined them again and again and again, and there's a dent as I run my fingers over the angry letters. Something in my stomach lurches, uneasy. What does it mean?

 

**I KNOW**

 

 

I think about Sebastian. I think about today. What we've done. I purse my lips flat. This is a threat. And he wants me to know that.

 

I tuck it into my pocket before I go.

 

\--


	14. The Name

I leave a note for Sebastian in his trailer, hoping that he'll see it.  
 _  
 **'I've gone for an audition in the West End. The new Marber play. I should be back at your place by ten, latest.**  
  
 **Sleep in the bed tonight.**  
  
_ ** _J'_**  
  
It's my version of 'don't wait up', rather than 'sleep with me', but I imagine he'll take it as the latter anyway, because he's Sebastian. I just hope he believes it. I haven't mentioned any audition, nor any new play. It's possible he'll see through the lie. I'm secretly pleased that he doesn't know where Craig lives. He'll come after me, I think, charge in and make things worse trying to rescue me. He seems the type, after his behaviour at the pub. Don't get me wrong... It's endearing. He's the sort of man I'd have killed to have in my employ a few months ago - loyal, ex-army, passionate... But I don't need rescuing.  
  


My delusion about making things up with Craig, about keeping my options open, has withered and died since finding the letter. There's anger in those letters, carved so hard in the paper with the pen that it's almost gone through in places. There's no doubt that my beating the other day was just the beginning, and I was foolish to think anything else. I'll stay with Sebastian until I can think of what to do next. Retrieve my money from the mattress. Perhaps pay him some rent, if I can... Give Craig a chance to... cool down.

 

_Fool._

But for now, I still need to know what he Craig thinks he knows. What he's threatening, before it's too late. Maybe I can talk him down.

 

I leave the note and slip out of the trailer, heading for the road in the darkness. If I'm doing this, I do it on my own terms. No rescue.   
  
My inner Moriarty nods imperceptibly. Backbone.  
  
\--  
  
By the time I arrive at Craig's place - I can no longer call it home - it's pitch black outside, and as I climb from the car, I'm reminded of only the night before last, when he escorted me inside and proceeded to beat me unconscious. Anger settles in my chest, and somehow it manages to drive out the unease - but only just. I watch the cab drive away, disappear into the night, and then I walk up to the house. The lights are all off.  
  
I feel ashamed to be hopeful that perhaps he'd gone away. He wasn't at the set today - is it outside the realms of possibility that he's packed a bag of things, gone away for a few days? It is... I know it is. Craig isn't one to run away, tail between his legs. But I could have picked the lock, slipped inside, collected my money and packed a bag without so much as a gruff insult.  
  
But I know he'll be here. Because apparently, 'he knows'. He'll want me to follow that letter back here. 

 

And I need to know what it means.  
  
 _Coward. There's fear in your stomach. You feel sick_.  
  
I ignore that voice in my head and step up to the front door. There's something taped to it, and I squint as I get close, before realising that it's a picture of Sebastian. It must be a head shot - he's smiling, posed professionally, head and shoulders. I reach up and pull the photograph down, turn it between my fingers. A frown on my lips, I open the front door, and step inside.  
  
"Craig?"  
  
I draw the knife from my pocket. It's nothing substantial... A kitchen knife stolen from Sebastian's trailer, but it's short and sharp and I can use it.   
  
My hand feels for the lightswitch, and when the electric light flickers to life, it illuminates the stark, expensive kitchen. That pool of my blood has dried and crusted brown. The smashed plates still lay there, and my stomach churns a little, reminded of that evening. Why am I here? I could still go. I have my hand on the door.  
  
 _Coward._  
  
I set my jaw, and step further inside, turning on lights as I go. The living room stays dark, no matter how many times I flick the switch, and as my eyes grow accustomed, I see a figure sitting at the table, swathed in darkness. Slowly, he lifts a sizeable bottle with a slosh of the liquid inside, and takes a drink. My throat feels dry.  
  
"...Craig, sweetheart." I say, summoning that sweetness that I know he likes. Moriarty scoffs at me from within. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"  
  
The question is answered for me when a piece of glass crunches under my shoe, a part of the elaborate glass ceiling light. I wonder if it got smashed during my attack, or if that's a  
consequence of his rage, today. He doesn't answer me. The drink sloshes against the glass bottle again as he tips it soundlessly into his mouth.  
  
The ticking of the clock is loud in the silence.  
  
"...I came back."  I offer at last, the words stranded in the dark of the empty room. My heart thuds steadily. It reminds me that I'm alive. "...Didn't I tell you that I'd come back, Craig?"  
  
Silence again for a moment. I shift unhappily where I stand. I'm considering just...  just going. Forget the 'I KNOW'. I could pack a bag, retrieve my money -  
  
"He here?"  
  
The gruff words interrupt my thoughts, and I purse my lips.  "No. He's not here."  
  
Craig stands at that, and I almost take a step back. I catch myself at the last second, and stand my ground. I stay where I am. My fingers tighten around the knife hilt.   
  
"...Why did you send me a letter, Craig?" I ask him, my tone still calm. Reasoning. The photograph of Sebastian is still in my hand. "...Why was that picture on the door?"  
  
He takes another few steps closer, and I purse my lips, uncomfortable, that bravado coming back, the same as always.  
  
 _I'm not scared of him. I'm not scared of anyone. I'm Moriarty. I'm Jim Moriarty. I'm M._  
  
"Y'came back." He says gruffly when he gets close enough, and I shift uncomfortably.  
  
"Yes. You sent me a letter."  
  
He grabs me. I flinch, thrash in panic before I realise that he's wrapped his arms around me hard. He squeezes me, so tight that I can't breathe, my ribs throbbing and aching. It's almost like a hug. The knife is at an awkward angle, digging into my own hand, pointing away.   
  
"Y'came back." He says again, almost tearfully. It's that bizarre kind of affection. Needy. Like when he apologises after his fists pull me to pieces. But it's better than being beaten. Only just. But it's better. Maybe we can work things out, after all.  
  
"Craig..."  
  
And then that bottle smashes over my head, and everything goes black.  
  
\--  
  
I come around all at once, freezing water dumped over my head, and bite my tongue against crying out. I keep myself from thrashing against the masking tape that binds my hands together behind the chair, but just lift my head groggily and take in my surroundings. Calmly. Moriarty eyes, though my heart thuds and my ribs scream in my chest, the pain hot and visceral from being tied at this angle. It takes a while for me to gather myself, to remember why I came here. A while longer to figure out why I didn't just get my things and run.  
  
My teeth chatter from the cold water and Craig walks back into view, with a kind of staggering saunter that tells me he's been drinking all day. That he probably hasn't stopped, since the pub last night. We're in the bedroom now, and the light illuminates the roughness of his face, the bags under the watery, unfocused eyes, confirming my suspicions that he hasn't slept. My pistol is in his untrained hand, swinging free, the missing one that he's never said a thing about...  My knife lays abandoned on the floor.   
  
 _You're going to die._  
  
"I came back to you." I say, through clattering teeth. It wasn't meant to be like this. I was supposed to win this time. I have to stay calm. "...I came back because I love you, Craig."  
  
He doesn't need to know that I'm lying. I flex my aching wrists, concentrating on that rather than the throb of my ribs in this position. Masking tape. Of all things.  
  
 _And you're going to die at the hands of a clumsy amateur._  
  
Craig holds his laptop in his free hand. He brings it over to me, sets it down wordlessly on my knees so that I can see the screen, though for a minute I'm not sure what I'm looking at.   
  
"Craig?"  
  
And then he reaches over me, clumsily presses play, and the fuzzy shapes begin to move, begin to sharpen. It's Sebastian and me.  
  
On the bathroom floor. Today. Me, on my knees for him. Cold floods my stomach.  
  
That's what he means. He knows. 

 

And now I really am a dead man.  
  
"...How did you get this?" I ask him calmly, innocently, bile rising in my throat, though I already know the answer. His set insiders. His minions. If there wasn't a camera in the bathroom already, he had one set up. A lucky guess, maybe. The only private space near the closed set. I wonder what happened today, when it was sent through, Craig already delirious from the drink.. I wonder if he resolved then to do this to me. I wonder who delivered his note. 

 

My teeth still chatter from the cold. Or perhaps it's shock. I wonder suddenly if my head is bleeding.  
  
"...You weren't even at the set today."  
  
The things he could do with this tape.  
  
Ruin Sebastian's career. Ruin mine, not even off the ground yet. Swamp our film in dirty controversy, ruin the innocent, progressive message.  
  
"Going t'send it straight t'Daily Mail." Craig slurs, proud of himself, and I grit my teeth. My head throbs from the glass bottle. I'm tied to a chair, awaiting my beating, and yet my biggest worry is another man's reputation.  
  
"Don't do that, Craig." I reason, the calmness dissipating a little. I eye my gun in his hand. "What does it matter? What does he matter, hmm?"  I may be an actor now, but I don't sound convincing even to my own ear. I'm speaking too quickly, too vehemently. On the screen, Sebastian comes silently into my mouth. Humiliated to share the private moment, I watch myself swallow, stand. I watch the tables turn. Craig moves to stand behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. He's watching too. I force myself to speak. Calm, and reasoning. "It didn't mean anything, you know that. You know that."

 

It's as though I'm talking to a brick wall. He's made his decision.  
  
He reaches down, clicks on a new file. It takes a moment to load, and I glance sideways, at that gun resting on my shoulder. I can't see if the safety is on or not. I tug on my wrists experimentally - the masking tape isn't as tight as it could be. There's a little give.

 

_This was never going to go well. What did you expect?_

 

The video this time is clear, impossibly clear. It's Sebastian and I on the barn floor. It's not either of the angles that Honsson used, and the video seems to have been filmed on a phone, from the aspect ratio. The minions, barred from the set, must have set it up, hidden amongst the set pieces. 

 

From this way, you can see everything. Cocks rubbing together, obscene and slick, the director and cameramen watching us, oblivious. Craig's minions have really outdone themselves. This one will make David and Chester's sweet, loving sex scene into a controversial porno farce.

  
It will ruin the film. We'll be laughed out of the festival circuit. The Academy will turn their noses up. John Honsson will be shamed.   
  
I'm not sure whether Craig's showing me this as evidence of my infidelity, justification for whatever he does to me next, or as more blackmail. Whether he even realises what he holds in the palm of his hand.   
  
"I came back to you." I try again, sickly sweet as the video goes on, Craig's hand tightening on my shoulder. The gun bumps, solid and cold against my collarbone.  I'm buying time, moving my wrists this way and that, freeing up the first layer of the duct tape. It's clumsy work. He's drunk. I'm Moriarty, I tell myself, but my words sound an awful lot like begging.  "...I needed a bit of space last night, Craig, but I came back, didn't I? Just like I told you I would."  
  
"They'rall laughing a'me."  
  
I can barely make out the words through the heavy slurring, but there's a darkly emotional edge to Craig's voice, and that's dangerous.  
  
"No... No, they aren't...You wouldn't want to hurt the film, Craig." I remind almost gently. It's not in his interests to sabotage his own career. He cast Sebastian and I, after all.  "Honsson wouldn't be happy..."  
  
"Honsson watch'you fuck'im."  The slur is angry, and one of the hands on my shoulder has slid up to clasp around my windpipe.  
  
"I didn't." I remind, as calmly as I can, my pulse beating against his fingertips. I wriggle my wrists even more. "I didn't, Craig, we were just act -"  
  
" _I can see you!"_  He roars down at me, spittle flying everywhere. I wince at the sudden sound, and he takes a step in front, throws my chair down onto the floorboards. My stomach lurches and I go with it, a heavy clatter that almost slams my head into the ground. My aching body throbs pitifully. The laptop slams into the floorboards too, the screen going black. But the jolt has loosened the masking tape. I'm almost through.  
  
When Craig looms over where I lay, still tied to the chair, he holds my knife.   
  
"I shoul'cut it off." He slurs pleasantly, swaying with that kitchen blade like it's the best idea in the world. "Can'keep it in y'pants. Cut it off."  
  
He bends down, leers close to my crotch with that blade, and my eyes widen a fraction  
  
"Craig - listen to me. Sebastian and I-"  
  
"Or.. or mayb'I should take y'tongue."  That blade dances clumsily close to my lips. A rough, stinking hand grabs my chin, and his thumb forces its way into my mouth, holding it open. I can taste the filth on his skin, the stale alcohol, and almost gag. It's all I can do to writhe, trying to tilt my head out of the way. I don't know where the gun is. It isn't in his hands.  
  
"H'many more?" He demands to know, words all merging into one spitting bellow. That knife rests between my lips, and I daren't move, daren't answer. He's not thinking straight. He's not thinking about his livelihood, about the film, about blood on his hands... He's not thinking about how much he needs me, how much he loves me, which is what I've always counted on so far to survive...  
  
 _I'm going to die._  
  
My hands are almost free behind my back.  
  
"No more." I whisper around his thumb, holding his gaze. Moriarty or not, I'm frightened right now. He's a drunk idiot, but he's a drunk idiot with a knife in my mouth, and this has the potential to go very, very wrong.

 

 "There are no more, Craig, please..."  
  
 _"LIAR!"_  
  
He makes the mistake of pulling back his hand before he stabs me, and it's enough time for me to swing my freed hands up and clamp around his wrist, stopping that blade in mid air. It's a split second, but it's all I needed. He's not expecting it, and it exposes his torso - puts him in the perfect place for me to bring up my feet, to drive them up hard into his ribs.  
  
 _Payback. Bastard._  
  
The movement overbalances him, and as he falls, I stagger to my feet and kick him hard again, snatching the knife from his hand as he crumples. Pure, unadulterated rage pounds through my veins, and I grit my teeth, kick him in the side once, twice, a third time, and still it's not even a fraction of what he's done to me in the past. Moriarty surges within me, red hot with gleeful fury.  
  
 _Kill him. Drive the knife into his throat. Make him bleed. Make him beg. Make him suffer._  
  
But I can't. I might still need him. And... and he's got leverage. 

 

Instead, I march through to the bedroom, and begin throwing my clothes into a bag, listening to him groan and crawl about, that rage still pounding in my chest. I reach beneath the mattress and withdraw the money, and when I've packed all that I have and thrown it over my shoulder, I stalk back through. I bend down, by Craig's face, and grip his chin in my hand, like he did to me only minutes ago.  
  
"I should kill you." I tell him, trying not to let the rage get to me, though the words shake with vehemence, and I hold that knife within his drunken view. He doesn't stop groaning. "I should... I should cut off your balls and feed them to you, for what you've done. Do you know what you've done? How you made me... How you..."  
  
I tail off, throat thick. He doesn't answer. I slide the knife against his throat.  
  
"Do you?" I demand, in that sickly sweet voice I know he likes, though it trembles.  
  
He shakes his head, eyes unfocused. Snot pours from his nose. I grimace at him. He's disgusting.  
  
 _I'm not afraid of you. I'm not._

_I so wanted you to be my big ticket._  
  
"...Who... who was'e?"  Craig manages, through a slurred mouthful of his own saliva, his bleary eyes still challenging me. I press the knife harder against his throat. He's making no sense. Can't he see that I have him on his back? That I could kill him right now?

 

The problem is, he knows that I won't.

 

He knows he's got me beaten, still.  
  
"What?"

  
"M."  
  
At first I think that I've misheard him... but the letter is immistakeable, even through his grotesque, slurring mouth. I grow still, and Craig takes the opportunity to turn his head, and spit onto the wood floor. He'll earn no sympathy that way. Not when my own abdomen is black from his boots.  
  
"What?" I breathe, and take his chin again, urgent. "What did you say?"  
  
Taking advantage of my sudden pause, Craig roars, and it's abrupt, unexpected. He kicks out at me, and I overbalance, slamming into the wooden floor. But I'm scrabbling for the knife, gripping it hard, not willing to let myself become a victim again. It was wrong to come here tonight. Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Craig grabs at my ankle as I crawl away, and I'm slammed back down into the floor with a yell.  
  
 _Focus._

I kick my way out of his grasp, and stagger to my feet, across the room from him. I hold my knife outstretched. Craig is worse for wear - he tries to get to his feet, but stumbles and goes down hard, like a sack of potatoes. The day drinking and my brief attack has incapacitated him. Relief flutters in my chest. He lays on his back, breathing hard.  
  
"M. Craig." I head over hesitantly - and then lean down and shake him, willing him back from his alcohol haze. "Where did you hear that? Where did you see that name?"  
  
Craig's eyes have closed, the whiskey finally taking him under, but he grins dazedly, head lolling to one side.  
  
I  shake him again, urgent, trying to lull him back to consciousness. He barely moves. His eyes flicker open, and I yell the words at him, panicked.  
  
"Answer me, Craig. Where did you hear that?!"  
  
Craig laughs again, dazed and drunk and I slap him, palm connecting with clammy flesh. His eyes roll back, still jeering, and he's passing out.  
  
"No, no no, you answer me-"  
  
A last resort. Moriarty takes over, and in my panic, I ram the knife down hard into his thigh. It's sudden and violent, and so unlike the Jim he knows. Craig convulses, sits bolt upright with a roar, throwing me off. I hit the wood floor again, winding myself but manage to scramble to my feet again and wrench that knife free from his flesh. I shouldn't have done that. Oh God, I shouldn't have done that. Craig is yelling, loud and agonized, watching me with a kind of agonized rage, a lumbering, wounded bull.  I stagger back, away from him as he tries to stand again. It's the least he deserves I reason, after what he's done to me. But I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have. 

 

He's going to make me pay.

 

 But I needed to know. How does he know that name?  
  
"M. How do you know that name?!"  
  
A strangled bellow tails into a groan, and then he passes out again, falling heavily onto his knees, and then his front. Blood seeps from his thigh. I stand looking down on him, breathing hard, one of my hands bloody to the wrist. The knife is coated with crimson. My chest heaves, and adrenaline courses through my veins - but I can feel no satisfaction. Instead, a new kind of unease settles in my chest. I shouldn't have done that. I really, really shouldn't have done that. 

 

 _Moriarty took over._  
  
 I give Craig a nudge to the side with the toe of my boot, but he merely wobbles, mouth slack, snoring breaths rattling in his throat. I swallow hard. He'll release the videos. He'll ruin us all. 

 

"...Shit."  
  
I pick up my gun and shakily click on the safety, putting it in the bag. My anxious eyes on my abuser, motionless on the floor, I run a bloodied hand over my mouth and frown.   
  
 _M._

_How did he know_?

  
\--


	15. The Protector

I'm silent in the cab on the way back to Sebastian's flat, eyeing Craig's broken laptop sticking out of my bag. I doubt it means much that I brought it with me... He can no doubt have those videos sent to him again, but part of me hopes that my attack will make him think twice. And it makes me feel better, at least, to have a copy. Maybe if I study them enough, I can figure out who took them. 

 

I try to pretend that it's just Craig that makes me feel uneasy. That it's just those career-ending videos, just my scorned abuser, still able to get me, even whilst I've left him unconscious with a stab wound in his thigh. My lips twist uncomfortably into a smile, but it fades quickly. The revenge was beautiful, but I shouldn't have done it. It won't last. He'll be back for me, and I might have just made everything worse. But fuck, it felt good.

 

Inside me, Moriarty still paces, gleeful at the spilled blood.

 

I try not to think about 'M'. 

 

I have no idea what Craig knows, or how. I sense that it can't be everything. 'Who is he?', he'd asked me, as if I was cheating on him with someone else. As if M is a codename for my lover. But he knows that it's in reference to a person. 

 

Has someone been asking around about me? Am I safe? 

 

\--

 

When we pull up outside the flat, the driver barely looks at me when I pass the money over, face firmly forward, his hands clamped white-knuckled on the steering wheel.   
  
"...It's twenty, isn't it?" I ask, frowning, and he just nods, an infinitesimal, frightened little nod. I realise that I haven't seen him move an inch since I climbed into the car. 

 

"Please go." He says quickly, and I blink a few times, purse my lips flat. "I won't tell no one."  
  


For a moment, I think he knows about M. That they all know, that my identity has been broadcast into mass media channels, that I'm the victim of some bizarre conspiracy. My mind whirrs - and then I catch sight of myself in the rear view mirror, covered in blood. My hand is crimson from stabbing Craig, and it's been smeared across my t shirt, my cheek, the car interior in my distraction. Oh. 

 

I grimace apologetically at the mess, and then climb out of the car, leaving that twenty pound note on the seat. I lug my bag out with me, and the car skids away with a squeal of brakes, speeding up the road. I watch him go with a little dark amusement, if I'm honest, and then head into Sebastian's building - thankfully, nobody at the front desk or in the lobby as I step into the lift, and press the button for the penthouse.

 

He opens the door before I get there, and the anger in his expression melts to something akin to concern when he sees the blood. He knew, then. That the audition wasn't real.  
  
"Where are you hurt?" Sebastian demands, all business, taking my bag from my hand and tossing it inside his flat, before guiding me in after it, and locking the door. "Where are you bleeding from?"

 

"I'm not." I say, and then remember my head, and the glass. "...Maybe my head."

 

"...Shit."  He mutters, and pushes me to sit down on a dining chair, heading to the bathroom and returning with a first aid kit. He's still wearing his tunic and trousers from set, and I wonder when he found the note in his trailer. Whether he just got into a car without another thought, trying to find me. He stands over me, checking my hair in tense silence, his lips pursed. "Any pain?"  
  
"No. It just knocked me out." I say, and then after a moment, matter of factly; "...You're angry."

 

"...No, really?"  His sarcasm is terse, and my mouth quirks at the corner. He straightens my head, and then takes a pair of tweezers to me. "Hold still."

 

My smile fades rather quickly when he starts to extract the glass from my scalp. It's not in deep, and the shards are tiny. But it still hurts. I grip onto the chair's edge, gritting my teeth. Wincing. 

 

"Must have been quite an audition."  He says after a moment, sarcastic, short and accusatory. He's seething. "Let me guess. You didn't get the part?"  
  
"They're going in another direction." I quip, and he tugs free a bigger shard, making me wince. "Jesus. Ow."

 

"You're good." He says, and tosses down the tweezers, stalking away from me. I stay where I am for a minute, feeling my head throb, and gingerly run a hand through my hair after a  moment. The skin feels tender, a bump there, but I'll live. 

 

Sebastian returns, throws a fluffy towel at me. It hits me in the chest.   
  
"Go and wash up." He mutters, and then heads off back towards the living room. "You're covered in blood."

 

\--

 

I know he's furious with me, that I should try and talk to him, but I just stalk off towards the bathroom myself with that towel, indignant.

 

I never asked him to help me. I never wanted him to save me, or... patch me up. He decided to do that all by himself.

 

_I don't need you. Leave me alone._

 

Stubborn, I shower for forty five minutes, just enjoying the warmth on my aching back and ribs, stinging the fresh cuts hidden in my hair. The water runs crimson with Craig's blood, and I pettily use almost a whole bottle of Sebastian's expensive soap to wash myself, irritated with his self-righteous attitude. How dare he treat me like I've wronged him? I didn't want him to know where I was going. I didn't want to put him in danger, any more than I already have. Because of me, his career is at risk. Because of me, his biggest film to date might crash and burn. Is it so selfish not wanting him any more involved than that?

 

When I head back out at last, I'm just wearing a towel around my waist, tossing the clothes covered in blood into the bin. I pad into the bedroom silently, ignoring Sebastian as I pass him on the sofa. 

 

My clean clothes sit on the bed, neatly folded. The laptop sits beside them, and the gun next to that. I pause at the sight, touched by the gesture - though I wonder what ran through his head when he found the pistol. I pull on a t shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and pad back out into the living room. Sebastian looks over at me. He sets down the script he was reading, and we just share a long look, neither wanting to break the silence. At last, it's me that does.

 

"I knew you'd come after me if I told you."  
  
Sebastian just looks at me, arms folding over his chest loosely. The anger in his voice has lessened slightly. "I tried to. I didn't have the address."

 

"...It wasn't a suicide mission. I told you I'd be back by ten."  
  
"It might as well have been. You already knew what he was capable of." 

 

I'm still standing in front of him as he sits on the sofa, feeling like I'm being reprimanded by my head teacher. I give him a long look.   
  
"I don't need you to save me."

 

"I'm guessing he smashed something over your head. Am I right? A bottle?"   I'm silent. He already knows the answer. "Do you know how easily that could have killed you?"  
  
"But it didn't." I point out, and he throws his hands up exasperatedly.  
  
"Like that matters! You'd have been dead, and I'd never have known, sat here waiting for you to come back from a fucking audition that never existed!"

 

The words seem to explode out of him, and I wait calmly for the silence to settle again. Sebastian glares at me. He's hurt. He's been worrying.

 

"I needed to collect my things."  
  
"You could have taken me with you. I could have -"  
  
"Protected me?" I shoot back, and he falls silent. I laugh, but it's bitter, and I shake my head exasperatedly, my point proven. "Exactly."

 

"Do you know how you sound?" He asks me, angry himself. "You're covered in bruises, James. You've got broken ribs. How well has protecting yourself gone so far?"  
  
I know he's right. Somewhere. Some part of me knows he's right. I glare at him, fists clenched. Embarrassment flares in my chest.

 

Who is he? I've known him for a few days. I'm not used to anyone being this... involved. Who the hell does he think he is?

 

 _He's pointing out my weakness._  
  
"I don't need you." I hiss.  "I don't need  _anyone_."

 

"Good." Sebastian says back, his voice raised, standing at once from the sofa. "Good, so I can have my bed back, can I?"

 

"Yeah. Take it." 

 

"And where exactly are you going to go?"  
  
"Anywhere! I don't fucking care! Just get me away from you, and I'll be  _grand."_ Sarcasm drips from the words as I yell them, and I turn, snatch up my now empty bag and storm from the flat.

 

The door slams behind me.

 

It takes a long few moments until I stop, almost at the list when that anger dissipates, fading into something disappointed, instead. Upset. I'm barefoot, wearing just a t shirt and tracksuit bottoms, and the bag in my hands is empty, my things tidy and ordered on Sebastian's bed. I look, and the money is still in there. I could go and get a hotel. I could leave, now, forget my things, ask him to bring them to set. 

 

 _You don't need him,_  Moriarty seethes inside me. _You don't need anyone._

My hand hovers over the button for the lift, and I hear the door creak open behind me. I lower my hand again, but I don't turn around. Quiet footsteps approach. 

 

I say nothing. He says nothing. 

 

And then a hand takes mine, warm and rough-skinned, and he just leads me silently back into the flat. 

 

\--

 

Ten minutes later, and I'm laying on the sofa, my head resting in Sebastian's lap, watching the ceiling. He's stroking his fingers through my hair, pretending to look for more glass pieces, but we both know that it's not just that. That this is more than friendship. We don't need to say it, right now. There's a peace that's descended in the last ten minutes, a consequence of us both getting our frustrations out. I close my eyes, just enjoying the quiet for a moment. Sebastian speaks at last, a low murmur. I knew he'd want to know everything.

 

"...So where was he, today?"

 

"...As far as I could tell? Missing work to drink himself stupid." I wait for a moment, and know he'll want me to get this out of the way first. "...I stabbed him in the thigh."

 

"You...stabbed him?" He sounds surprised. I smile wryly

 

. "...You didn't think it was my blood?" I open my eyes, find his. "...He was threatening to cut pieces off me. I managed to push him off."  
  
"And instead of running, like a normal person, you decided to stab him?"

 

 _I wanted to do so much more._  
  
"He had a gun." I try to reason, not wanting to tell him anything about 'M'. Trying to wake Craig up as he passed out.

 

"I wondered about that."

 

_Yeah. It's mine._   
  


 I just nod, and close my eyes again. Soon he resumes stroking my hair. I can't let this go on without saying something. I sigh, and open my eyes again.   
  
"...What?"

 

"He threatened me. You."

 

The shadow of a disbelieving smile flickers over Sebastian's lips, his fingers stilling in my hair. I know he's thinking about fighting Craig - about going up against him in that way. I can see it already; he thinks that he'd win. The army sniper and the casting director. 

 

I glare at Sebastian. "Not like that. Don't get any ideas."

 

"Can you blame me?" 

 

I don't know what he means by that. He's got no reason - not until I tell him, anyway - to hate Craig. I think he might be saying he cares about me. I purse my lips together, uneasy with that. I don't... do that.

 

Sex is one thing. Caring is something else entirely. 

 

"He's got videos." I say flatly, getting right to it. "Two, from the sex scene. One from the bathroom."

 

"...What?"  Sebastian sounds confused, unhappy.   
  
I sit up, using the sofa to help myself. I frown at him. It's all my fault. "...His minions. The casting assistants. They must have rigged it."  
  
"How could they possibly know we'd go in the bathroom?"

 

"..It was probably a lucky guess. Closed set with only one private space nearby. They were probably just looking for a cock shot to sell. Instead they got.. well.."  
  
"The full monty." Sebastian says, and grimaces. "..Fuck."

 

"I have the laptop. But he can probably get more copies." I shake my head, suddenly feeling even worse for stabbing Craig. More ammunition. "...He said something about sending them to the Daily Mail."

 

Sebastian just shrugs, leans back down on the sofa. "Fuck the Daily Mail."

 

"I'm sorry."  
  
"Nah. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the idea of him watching them, but... you know."

 

I frown. Doesn't he care?

 

"But it'll out you. As gay."

 

He just looks back at me, raising an eyebrow. I go on, as if he hasn't heard me.

 

 "...It's the curse. You'll lose roles. You won't be 'believable' as a straight man anymore."

 

"I'm playing gay in this film." He points out after a moment, like I'm crazy, but I shake my head.  
  
"Yeah, 'playing gay'. A lot of people 'play gay'. It earns you the kind of respect that you don't earn from actually _being_  gay."  
  
He goes quiet at that, and I wonder if he's even considered this before. Losing roles. Perhaps I'm being too cynical. Perhaps society's come further than I think it has. 

 

"I'm not gay. I'm all sorts." Sebastian says at last, the words simple, and I look over at him. "And if someone wants to stop me taking a role based on that, then that's their prerogative. Probably not people I wanna be working with, anyway."

 

How can he be so relaxed about this? It's his career. His livelihood. He looks over at me with a wry smile, like he can hear my thoughts.

 

"I was in Helmand Province, James. I've seen people die." He pauses. "And I've killed them. You tend to look at life a little differently after that."

 

_Yeah, tell me about it._

 

I must say the words out loud, because he gives me a strange look.  
  
"...What?"

 

"Nothing. If that's how you feel.. I'm just... looking out for you, I suppose. We need to be more careful."  
  
"Well, thanks. But I'd rather not."

 

I sigh in exasperation. But Sebastian just grins, slips his hand to my cheek.  
  
"Am I allowed to do this yet?" He murmurs against my lips.  
  
"No." I scowl back, but he steals the kiss anyway, and I melt into it, splaying my fingers over his, warm on my cheek.

 

"...Still holding onto that friendship thing?" He murmurs when he pulls back at last, and I think back to today with chagrin, writhing against each other on the floor of the barn. 

 

"...Think we've shot that horse in the face, don't you?"

 

Sebastian grins. But I have to look away, and the smile fades slightly. "...What?"

 

"...I think I need... a bit more time."

 

_How mortifying. I hate this. I hate it._

My injuries from a few nights ago are bad. I examined myself in the shower, having put it off for long enough. I'm not surprised my bathwater was crimson. I suddenly wish that I'd stabbed Craig again, ten more times, just for the indignity of it all.  
  
"Oh.  _Oh_." Sebastian seems to get it after a minute, and I sit up and look away, mortified.

 

_It serves you right. The bed's not even cold, yet._

I try and shut off the voice in my head, and just avoid Sebastian's gaze, though he reaches over after a moment and squeezes my shoulder, soft. 

 

"Don't." I say, quietly, not wanting to talk about it. "Just... don't. Alright?"  
  
"Alright." He agrees simply. He presses a kiss to the slope of my shoulder and then stands, holding out a hand. "...Can I at least sleep next to you? You know. In the bed?"

 

A beat. I let myself smile, but it's still a little stiff, embarrassed.   
  
"...Suppose I can manage that."  
  
"It was written in the note. You've got to honour it."  
  
I laugh, and stand, taking that hand. "The note was a total lie."

 

"I know. Marber play. What the hell were you thinking?"

 

I relax. I don't know how he does it. But he helps me relax. 

 

Tension diffused, the bedroom door slips shut behind us. But even as we settle down in bed, Sebastian's arm draped innocently over my middle... My mind keeps working. Sorting through every last detail, trying to work it out. 

 

_How did he know?_

 

_Who is M?_

 

_Where did you hear that name?_

 

\--


	16. The Location

Craig thunders after me down a darkened corridor, those dark eyes black and murderous, contained and sober this time. My heart races in my chest, and I glance back over my shoulder, but he's closer than I thought,  and my legs seem to wade through deep water as I run, tortorously slowly.   
  
"JIM!" He roars, thundering after me, the whole house shaking as his feet slam precariously against the floorboards, and his thigh is gushing blood, the knife hilt sticking out of his flesh. He takes no notice. He holds the gun in his hand and starts firing blindly, and I scream, the sound bubbling up out of my throat as those bullets find my flesh, searing holes right through me. I'm still running. 

 

Craig's bulk slams into me, and then I'm seeing stars, pinned flat on the floorboards, his grinning, leering face in front of mine.    
  
"...M..." He whispers, and the name is a taunt, a jeering threat. "....M..."

 

I jolt awake, breathing hard, tangled in the sheets again. I'm covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and beside me, Sebastian blinks himself awake, looks around himself blearily. It's just getting light outside.   
  
"...You okay?"

 

"Yeah." The reply takes a moment, breathy and almost scoffing. I feel idiotic now that I see the familiar surroundings. Faint embarrassment settles in my chest as I remember myself. My heart still pounds, and I shrug, covering that weakness. I'm not sure whether it was Craig that I was afraid of, the hold he still has over me... Or if it's that name. My name. Following me.  "Yeah, fine."

 

_You coward. You frightened child._

_\--_

 

Sebastian follows me into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, and I put on the coffee pot, unable to think about going back to sleep after that. I turn to look at him, and he's just in his boxers, hair standing up at all angles. He squints in the light.  
  
"...You know it's four in the morning, right?"  
  
"...Yeah."  I empty three spoons full of sugar into one of his mugs, pulling my t shirt down over my underwear. "I told you. M'not sleeping well."

 

He frowns, rubs his eyes. "I thought that was an excuse."

 

"Do you want a coffee?"

 

Sebastian sits down at the kitchen table, and shrugs. "Yeah, okay. We're on early pick-up for Addington, anyway."  
  
It takes a few minutes for that to get through to me. I'm stirring the coffees before I realise what he said, still trying to calm my juddering heart. I keep seeing those dark eyes. That jeering whisper.  
  
"What?"

 

Sebastian holds his hand out, and I slosh milk into his drink and pass it over.   
  
"...Addington. We're on location today."  He turns the hot mug in his hands. "Don't you read the call sheets?"

 

I was a little busy yesterday, I think to myself. I left before Sebastian did, with a knife in my pocket. I just shake my head, preoccupied. I can't stop thinking about M. About how Craig has somehow heard... read... seen... my name. Even if he doesn't know that it's mine. Whoever it is... they're getting closer. I need to check my email. 

 

"I meant to talk to you about that, actually but... everything kind of got in the way..."

 

Sebastian says, and I just nod, still lost in my thoughts. I hold my own mug, padding over to the window and looking out at the London skyline, the morning still bathed in dusky shadows. Lights glitter as early risers get up for work. The steam rises from the coffee, and I realise that Sebastian has been talking this whole time, while I've been thinking about countless other things. I glance back at him, tuning in.   
  
"... do you think?"  
  
"...Hmm?"

 

Sebastian blinks at me, and frowns. He stands, looking concerned. 

 

"...Do I need to take you to hospital?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You had a head injury last night, and now you seem... well. A bit all over the place."

 

"I'm fine."

 

" You sure? Look, if you're worried about the videos..."

 

I just shake my head, turn my attention back to the skyline. I take a sip of the coffee, but it's too hot and scalds my tongue. My throat too, as I swallow it. 

 

"Just don't be, alright? We'll sort it. We'll sort him. He won't come near you."

 

_Playing the hero, again. If only you knew who you were trying to save. The things I'd done..._

 

Sebastian's arm slides around my middle, and I jump, almost sloshing coffee everywhere. "You do need to answer me though." He muses, and I frown, wondering what it is that he asked me. I stay quiet, looking out at the city, and he sighs, repeating himself. "About Croydon. Staying with my family...?"

 

I purse my lips flat, confused. "...Don't we have a car to bring us back?"

 

"Yeah. But they're twenty minutes up the road. Saves the hour and a half of travelling for the next two days. Morning and night..."

 

He wants us to stay with his family. 

 

I can hear that hope in his voice. He wants me to say yes. I know he does. But I hesitate. Meeting his relatives? Staying in the family home?

 

It seems an awful lot, awfully quickly, even if Sebastian makes out that it's just for convenience. But his lips are on my neck, warm in the cosy morning air, and I look at our faint reflection in the glass, finding that I want to go. I do. Even if I know it's a terrible idea. As much as I detest the thought, Sebastian has quickly become synonymous with safety. Warmth. Perhaps I do need him, in some sense. But I'm still uneasy. 

 

_He knows nothing about you. Nothing of who you used to be._

 

"Alright." I agree quietly, to make him happy - and he grins. 

 

"I'll pack us a bag."

 

\--

 

While Sebastian is in the bedroom, I open his laptop again, sitting it on my knee, facing away from the bedroom door. I squint in the sudden brightness of the screen in the dim morning, and set my coffee down. I log into my emails, quickly, quietly, and find three waiting for me - one from Viana and two from Mansfield. No doubt they've been in touch with each other.

 

The first two emails, one apiece, are in reply to that list of jobs I sent. I click on them one by one. Just a single word.

 

'Done'. 

 

They don't ask where I am. They don't ask if I'm coming back, if the business is done for... And I purse my lips unhappily, regretting what I've done. I could have stayed quiet. I could have let them think I was dead.

 

Maybe it's them that have been looking for me. Trying to help, trying to be loyal. Maybe that's how Craig knows my name. That name. 

 

Frowning, I click the second email from Mansfield. I wonder for a moment if it's going to be some expression of gratitude for revealing that I'm alive. 'Thank you', perhaps, or 'Welcome back'. But it's not.

 

**_'Be careful. Burch is looking for you.'_ **

 

I read the words a few times, lips pressed flat, before Sebastian heads in again, dressed now, and I have to slam the laptop lid shut. 

 

"What are you up to?"

 

The excuse comes quickly, and I'm standing, carrying that laptop casually with me into the bedroom.

 

How does Mansfield know that Burch is looking for me? And what does Burch want with me? Surely it's better for him if I've ceased operating my business. Why look for me? Why open that can of worms?

 

"Googling where Addington is. I'm going to get dressed."

 

He's packed us a bag of clothes, toiletries. I kiss him on the cheek as I head into the bedroom, and then get dressed as quick as humanly possible. I hastily load up the laptop again, sitting on the bed, and open the email. 

 

My fingers hover on the keys, but I'm suddenly unsure that I should say anything at all. To type something confirms that I'm back. But Mansfield said to be careful. So he must know. 

 

He's never told me to be careful before. He'd never have had the balls. I was always untouchable before. 

 

In the end, I close the laptop lid uneasily, just as the bell rings for Sebastian's intercom. I toe on my shoes and head out into the living room, where he walks over to the wallphone. 

 

"Hello?"  
  
"Sebastian! It's John. Are you coming out?"

 

It's Honsson, voice fuzzy and slightly distorted by the speaker. I smile, bemused, putting my stresses away for a moment. What's he doing here?

 

"...Are we... sharing a car?"

 

"Look out the window."

 

Sebastian and I share a look, and then pad over to the glass, peering down at the street below. A lurid green coach idles on the curb. Sebastian laughs. 

 

"Oh God."

 

\--

 

"What, your budget couldn't stretch to cars?" Sebastian laughs as we struggle onto the coach with our bags, Honsson preoccupied, head buried in the script.   
  
"We've just got to pick James up, and then we're -"  Honsson glances up, and his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of me, words tailing off in his surprise.  "...Oh."

 

I smile a little awkwardly, cheeks hot. I raise a hand in greeting, Geraldine, Lisa and Donald already seated, with a plethora of other crew and supporting artists.   
  
"Hello, darling!"  
"Oh, come and sit with us."  
"It's too bloody early for this."  
  


I laugh at Donald's grumbling, letting the infectious road-trip atmosphere take me as we inch down the coach's corridor with our bags, and let ourselves fall into a pair of seats. Honsson is still watching us, a little confusedly. I can see him putting the pieces together, wondering about Craig. I can feel his eyes on me, my face still hot.   
  
"Honsson's spending the car money on special effects, instead." Lisa announces, and the engine starts up, the coach pulling away from the curb. Honsson sticks a middle finger up at us from the front of the bus.  
  
"Did it have to be green?" I call to him, just pleased to be distracted for a while. From M. "We could see it from the fifteenth floor."

 

"Couldn't bloody miss it." Sebastian laughs, and we turn back to our group, settling in. He puts an arm around my shoulders, and the message is clear. Lisa and Geraldine share an amused, conspiratorial glance. I lean into Sebastian's embrace as the coach pulls away, and the driver turns on the radio, a pop song blasting out. I don't feel like I'm heading to location. I feel like I'm on a school trip, and it's bizarre.

 

A couple of songs play out, and we have a brief catch-up with our costars, Sebastian and I being very selective about what we mention. Donald and Lisa hang off our words, as if expecting us to reveal something scandalous. Something about Craig, the reason perhaps for Sebastian and I being so obviously together. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. Perhaps I should have kept my distance a little more. Pretended, for Craig's sake, that Sebastian and I weren't anything. That Craig and I are still together. 

 

It might have stopped him from releasing the videos. To save face, save his own reputation from being smeared by my infidelity...

 

It doesn't take long for Lisa to flap her hands at us, to dig her script from her bag.

 

"We should run through a scene!"

 

"Oh here she goes. Barely been on the bus for five minutes." Donald scoffs, and I check my watch, squinting as if I haven't already been up for two hours. I admit, the adrenaline is beginning to wear off.  
  
"It's six in the morning."   
  


Sebastian rolls his eyes, amused. "Can't we just sing songs, like a normal busload of actors?"

 

"Oh come on, you bores!"  
  
"No singing in my contract." Geraldine drawls, so matter of factly that we all laugh again, and Donald snatches Lisa's script. 

 

"Oh, I'll do it."

 

\--

 

Sebastian's arm is warm over my shoulders, and despite the uneasy pang, I don't shrug him off or give him a look, I don't glance around to make sure Craig isn't watching. It's too late, now. We don't stop by the house, and it's a relief - he must have called in sick today. Well. It's probably the sensible thing to do, with a stab wound in his thigh. Honsson would ask questions. The director's already got enough questions running through his mind, I can see them every now and then when he glances over, eyes settling on Sebastian and I, cuddled together in our seats. I lean against him, and we're smiling, watching Donald and Lisa run through one of their scenes with added panache - exaggerating every movement, turning every serious line into some kind of innuendo. They've taken centre stage now, the supporting artists watching amusedly and jeering them on, Honsson yelling back every few minutes about seatbelts and insurance. It's easy not to think about M when we're getting further and further from central London. Leaving it all behind. I take the opportunity to tip my head back slightly, looking at Sebastian upside down.   
  
"...So. Meeting the family."

 

"Nervous?" Sebastian teases, arching an amused eyebrow. I roll my eyes. 

 

"We're not 'together'."  
  
"I know that."  He says, and the words are useless, because his arm tightens around me a fraction, and he kisses me on the forehead, soft and sweet. I sigh, words flat.

 

"They're going to assume we are. You know that."  
  
"Yup."

 

"And you don't mind that, do you?"

 

"...My family are hardly the Daily Mail." Sebastian quips, smiling.  "It'll only be my mum, anyway. Sister's still in Australia."

 

I nod, a little relieved. I don't know what I'd been expecting. A house full of Morans, perhaps. Accosted by curious faces, probing questions at every turn.   
  
"...Are you going to tell her how we met?"  
  
"...You mean," He grins, "Am I going to tell her that we've been rolling around naked together on a barn floor?"

 

The bus just happens to fall quiet at the very moment Sebastian says that, and I groan, flush a furious scarlet as the jibes start up, our costars laughing at us, pointing and clapping. Sebastian just chuckles as I hide my face.

 

"Think I'll keep that bit to myself." He finishes finally, amused. "...Though she's going to see the film eventually."  
  
And those videos, I can't help but think, if Craig goes ahead with it. A script is thrust our way, and Sebastian takes it, before Lisa looks at us expectantly.  
  
"Come on then. We're waaaaiting."

 

Sebastian and I share a resigned look.

 

\--

 

"You can't tell me who to love, David. I've been running from this all my life. Running from who I am."  
  
"You don't mean it. You can't. It's..."  
  
"It's what? What is it?"  
  
"Indecent."

 

A heavy, heated pause.  
  
"What we had together was beautiful. It was raw. It was in my blood."  
  
"It's not right. If anyone were to find out -"  
  
"They know, David! Your wife, you can't really be as dim to think that she -"  
  
"Marion loves me."  
  
"That may be. But she knows that you do not love her."

 

Another silence. David grips Chester's chin.

 

"You know nothing, Chester. Do you understand me?"  
  
"I know one thing. I know one thing, and I know it more strongly than I've ever known anything else."  
  
"Don't. Don't say it."

 

"I know you feel it, too. I know you feel it."

 

"Chester -"  
  
"I love you. I love you, David and I want us to be together. I love you like a man loves a woman, the heat of it burns me."

 

David closes his eyes.

 

"They'll arrest you. They'll have you brought in front of the firing squad. Or worse, Chester. Worse."  
  
"Rather that."  
  
"Chester!"  
  
"Rather that, than live this way. A lie. I won't. I won't do it, not without you."

 

David falls silent again, and Chester cups his cheeks, finds his gaze. David speaks, quiet and lost.   
  
"Chester... You're asking me to die for you."

 

"No, my love. I'm asking you to live, for me."

 

The coach erupts into spontaneous applause, and Sebastian and I break apart, smiling a little embarrassedly. He grins, kisses me in full view of the coach, and caught up in the moment, I let him... though I can see Honsson's eyes bugging out of his head as he looks back at us, having been watching our charade of a rehearsal. His suspicions, confirmed. I close my eyes, kiss Sebastian back for just a moment, and then bat a hand at him in reprimand. It's too late now. Much too late. He laughs, and I settle back against him, noticing the twinkle in Lisa's eye, the way Donald watches us knowingly. 

 

As we pull into Addington, Geraldine reaches over and squeezes my hand, a kind of pride on her face - mixed with something else. My chest tightens unhappily when I realise that it's pity - that she must have known, must have figured it out about Craig, that the bruises and broken ribs weren't from the mugging at all. I purse my lips flat, hating the sympathy, but just squeeze her hand back. She's happy for me, she's saying. 

 

I wish I could relax into it, like I relax into Sebastian's embrace. I wish I could enjoy the flutter in my chest when he's nearby.

 

But that jeering whisper comes back to me through the happiness, and I find myself staring at my reflection in the window's glass as we pull up at the new set, hollow eyed in the light for a moment. Like a skeleton.

 

_Be careful. Burch is looking for you._

 

_M_


	17. The Home

When we climb out of the coach at location, I'm suddenly struck by the beauty of it all. The country home stands, in all it's glory, surrounded by miles of lush green grass and woodland. The grounds are well kept, the house immaculate and huge from the outside, and I realise all at once that this is Chester's family home - that we'll be filming all the exterior shots here, this weekend. 

 

"Nice, isn't it?" Sebastian asks me knowingly, and I nod, a little more relaxed after the coach trip. It's easier to put it all out of my head. 

 

No Craig. No emails. No Burch. No videos. No M. 

 

"It's beautiful."  
  
He squeezes my hand.

 

\--

 

Half of me wishes that we could head back to Sebastian's to rest first, but Honsson tells us that we need to film tonight at dusk - so we'll be working until lunchtime, and then allowed to leave. I'm feeling that 4am morning now, though it can only be about eight, and we're chivvied towards a make-up trailer, Chelsea and Bev tutting when they see us. 

 

"Look at those bags! You need to go to bed earlier."

 

The stress hasn't exactly been helping. I sigh, taking my seat in front of the mirror, and examining my face critically and Sebastian just kisses me on the cheek as he passes.

 

"Ignore them," He murmurs, "You're gorgeous."

 

The silence in the trailer quickly becomes tense and confused, Chelsea and Bev sharing another look, though I just roll my eyes at Sebastian, squeeze his hand as he heads out to get us coffee. Bev begins powdering my face in silence, and I wonder how they haven't guessed so far. Perhaps they assumed that Sebastian and I were just... close friends, rather than the whirlwind fling that seems to have captured us both.

 

"....So." Chelsea says, after a moment, tone amused. "...When did that happen?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"He's puppy eyed over you."  
  
"He's just in character." I protest, but their amused looks tell me that they know otherwise. It's a shame... I really didn't want the whole world to assume I'm unfaithful to Craig, but I'm not going to tell them the whole story either. Let them think what they like.

 

"Well." Bev says at last, brazenly. "He's much hotter than Craig Mason anyway."

 

That, I can agree on.

 

To my surprise, my tired face doesn't take too long to sort out, and I'm standing to head for the costume trailer, taking away the paper bib from around my neck when Honsson enters the make-up trailer, and closes the door behind him.  
  
"Girls." He greets Bev and Chelsea, but it's pointed - a signal that he'd like a moment alone. Bev and Chelsea set down their tools, and I sit back down as they head out, talking animatedly about Lisa's make-up for a later scene. The trailer door clatters shut, and their conversation dies away, until Honsson is watching me in solemn silence.   
  
"...Everything okay?" I ask after a moment, and he just sighs, rubs at a weak chin with a hand. This is about the bus, isn't it.

 

"I know it's easy to get caught up in playing a role..." He begins, words condescending, though I can tell he's trying to be kind. "You're a new actor. Sebastian's an attractive man, and he's got his admirers..."  
  
I can see where this is going. I frown, embarrassed. He's almost like a school teacher in his mannerisms, trying to figure out the best way to say this.  
  
"...John, really.."  
  
"When Craig came to meet me, you should have heard the way he spoke about you. Gushing, he was." 

 

My hands curl around the edge of my seat, misplaced guilt settling in my chest. I shouldn't feel guilty. Honsson doesn't know what Craig's capable of. How he's broken me. I purse my lips together, hard. He just goes on.

 

"I'm just saying... he obviously cares about you very much, Jim. It's not my place to pry -"  
  
"No." The word is firm, and I'm in dangerous territory here. He's my director. I can't afford to make an enemy of him, too. "...No, it really isn't."

 

Honsson presses on.  
  
"But don't ruin a loving relationship over some... fling with an actor."  He holds up his hands, frustratingly, like he's just trying to help. 

 

"I'm -"  I try and defend myself, but he interrupts me again, words an attempt at reasonable.  
  
"...Think about it from my perspective. No director wants actors who are going to make life difficult. Costar relationships... they can make things really hard, Jim."

 

I'm just looking at myself in the mirror, newly made up, light defining all those angles. My gaze settles on that fading bruise on my cheekbone, hidden beneath all the powder.

 

"I've seen it happen before. That's all I'm saying. One day, you might regret it."

 

I'm silent, eyes just settling on the dressing table. He's just... warning me off. He doesn't know the truth, my mind reminds me, but the words echo through my mind nonetheless.

 

_You should have heard the way he spoke about you._

 

_He obviously cares about you very much._

 

I'm not sure how the words can ever apply to Craig, those black eyes... I remember his hands around my throat. 

 

But... but maybe he's got a point about mixing work and pleasure. Maybe I should have steered clear of Sebastian.  
  


Honsson reaches over, and gives my shoulder a squeeze. I give him a short, strained smile. He's just trying to help. 

 

The trailer door opens, and Sebastian stands with a cardboard tray of coffees, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he sees Honsson.  
  
"Oh. John. Everything alright?"  
  
"Everything's just fine." Honsson smiles and stands, looks at me. "Isn't it, Jim?"

 

 I look back at him, and then away. I should have known better than that display on the coach this morning. Honsson is Craig's friend, after all.

 

I should have known it wouldn't be that easy to get away.

 

"...Yeah"

 

"On set in ten, please."

 

He heads out, slapping Sebastian on the back, who holds the door open for me and passes me a drink.   
  
"Costume?"

 

"Yeah, let's go."  
  
"What was that about?"

 

\--

 

"You're joking?" 

 

Sebastian is indignant, a puffer coat over his Victorian clothes as we have a break between takes. I shake my head, biting into a muffin, and speak with my mouth full.

 

"Like you're some kind of... lothario."

 

"I thought he was supposed to be friends with Craig. How does he not realise that he's a total -"  
  
I reach over, squeeze Sebastian's arm. I hadn't meant to upset him. I hold out the muffin, and he takes it with a disgruntled bite. We're standing on the grass by the gorgeous house, David and Chester having been strolling hand in hand around the gardens. We're just about to film David walking him to the door. Of course, Chester insists on a kiss goodbye. And of course, Judge Marriott spots them from the window. The crew hurry around us, setting up the doorway, moving the electric lights. Donald is getting into place in the window, and Eleanor walks around in a puffer jacket of her own, offering cardboard cups of tea to everyone. That autumn chill is still in the air. 

 

"It's fine. I really think he meant well."

 

"I thought he  _wanted_  chemistry." Sebastian mutters, and I smile, pulling a blueberry from the muffin in his hands and popping it into my mouth.

 

"Well yeah.  _On_  set." I point out. "I suppose technically, us being... close..."  I don't say 'together'. "Could jeopardize things. What if we fell out?"

 

"I'm a professional."  
  
"Yeah, you're right. What you did on the barn floor was uber professional."

 

I'm teasing, and he grins, leaning closer. He's heading for a kiss, but I turn my head, and he pauses with a frown.  
  
"What?"

 

"...He's got a point, though. Maybe we should... be careful, on set."

 

"If this is about Craig..."

 

"Why give him any more ammunition? And Honsson's obviously uncomfortable."

 

Sebastian just sighs. I glance around, and seeing no director, lean up and kiss him quickly on the mouth, a peace offering. Then I swipe that muffin from his hand, and saunter towards the house, getting in position with a smirk. 

 

"Places, people!"

 

Honsson or not... It's nice to be relaxed. To tease and kiss even if in secret. To pretend that this is something I can have.

 

I focus on the acting. On my future, gradually getting closer - becoming within my reach. Paparazzi wait behind the fences, a buzz beginning to circulate about the film. It's beginning. And soon, I'll have the repute I need to be James Moriarty, and nothing else. 

 

I don't let myself think about the alternative.

 

\--

 

  
We get the scene in three takes - short and sweet, easy peasy - even though it's one of the pivotal moments of the film. Whenever we break, I take the opportunity to glance up at Donald in the window, who glowers down at us with thinly veiled contempt - before waving with a grin when the cameras stop rolling. David and Chester don't spot him, and when Sebastian kisses me at the doorway - all three times - I let myself go, enjoying the warmth of his lips, the slide of his tongue against my own. Chester's hands slide down to rest on David's arse, and it shouldn't make my cheeks feel hot - especially not after the barn floor, and that episode in the bathroom, but it does. It really does. 

 

When Honsson calls cut, I step back respectably from Sebastian, and nod at him - like we're just colleagues. The polite smattering of applause signals the end of filming for the moment, and Donald heads down and out of the house, shedding his restrictive costume before he's even gotten to the costume trailer.

 

"Thank God for that! Where's my bacon sarnie? I specifically asked for a bacon sarnie."  
  
"You'll get your sarnie, Donald." Honsson muses, rolling his eyes, and Eleanor starts making calls, ordering the cars to take us all to our hotel. Sebastian approaches her with a half glance at Honsson, and guides her to one side. He'll be changing our drop off location. It's not a surprise that he doesn't want Honsson to know that we're staying together. I try and distract the director, chatting to him in an attempt at nonchalance as I surrender my cuffs and collarpieces to the impatient costumier. 

 

"So... Craig's.. sick?" 

 

"...He is."  Honsson seems unwilling to say much more, perhaps in light of what he's seen. 

 

Craig gets no sympathy from me. He's probably just really hungover, today. I'm glad he's not here.  
  
"I'll call him later." I lie, but Honsson gives me a tentative smile, and then pats me on the back. Like he thinks I'm coming to my senses.   
  
"That's a great idea."  
  


He heads off, and I sigh, Sebastian coming over to me. I have to step out of the way before he can put an arm around me.  
  
"Still playing hard to get?"  
  
"He's got it so wrong." I sigh, shaking my head. Eleanor heads over with my puffer jacket, and I shrug it on, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "...Are we going back to yours, then? Before the night filming?"  
  
"You're nervous." He laughs, just once, grinning. "I can see it. You are."

 

I give him a shove, but frown. He might be right. 

 

"No.."  
  
"Come on. My mum'll love you."

 

\--

 

When I first met Craig, it was in a high end bar, in London's Canary Wharf. He was leaning against the bar, talking to two young girls that I'd later learn were his casting assistants. I was alone - I'd come as M, dressed in a sharp suit, all expensive tailoring and three hundred pound tie. I was supposed to be scouting a client, but he was a no show. I ordered a Cosmopolitan, and Craig had turned to me with a smile, presented his card to the man behind the bar to pay for me. I'd arched an eyebrow at him, and he'd started bragging almost straight away. Talked about his connections, the films he'd cast - sparking my interest, the idea of moving on from crime already having settled in my mind, at that point. I'd sipped my drink in silence, just listening. Scheming. Almost a reflex reaction by that point, I'd slipped a hand into his pocket, and lifted his wallet. 

 

He'd laughed at that later, when we were in bed, and I presented it to him like a magic trick. He'd pulled me close to him, murmured sweet nothings to me, promises to make me famous, to buy me a house on the outer limits of London, somewhere we could be together without being disturbed. Then, I wasn't sure what he'd meant. I was happy to go along with his lovesickness, happy to play sexkitten for as long as I needed to get cast in a film. It was only three weeks later, when I'd already severed my ties to the business, that his fists first buried themselves in my stomach. 

 

And then the next day, he promised to cast me in a Honsson movie.

 

\--

 

Weirdly enough, it's Craig's promise that I think of as we arrive at Sebastian's family home. Somewhere to be together without being disturbed. Somewhere away from the bustle of the city, but not stranded in the countryside, away from civilisation and a gin and tonic. I look out at the house, wedged between a row of others, a battered little car parked in a big driveway, potted plants on either side of the doorway. It's well looked after; the stones have been weeded, the windows washed, and the door knocker shines against a mahogany door. As we approach, something inside barks, and I stop mid-step, uneasy.

 

"Relax," Sebastian soothes, his hand on mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles. He turns to smile at me. "It's just Rex."

 

"Rex?" I repeat dubiously, somehow imagining that with a name like that, it's not a little chihuahua waiting for us. At the sound of Sebastian's voice, 'Rex' goes crazy, howling and scratching excitedly at the door.   
  
"Don't like dogs?"  
  
I fall silent at that, and Sebastian takes the opportunity to look at me properly, a little amused for a moment, but there's a flicker of sadness there too.  
  
"...Are you ever going to tell me anything about you? About where you came from?"

 

But the door flies open, and Sebastian's mother stands there, aged thirty years from that photograph I'd seen of her. But she smiles, and I instantly see Sebastian's own grin, softer somehow, an those crinkling blue eyes. She envelopes her son in a hug, as Rex the huge Alsatian leaps up at him, squealing like a puppy. He finishes hugging his mother, then bends down, ruffling the dog's ears.

 

"Hello, you. Mum - this is James."

 

"...How do you do, James?" Her voice is soft, pleased I think to see me.  
  
"I'm very well, thank you."   I can hear the nerves in my own voice, and smile in spite of myself, sheepish. She leans in, and hugs me too, her arms warm from the house. And then she orders us in out of the cold, and closes the door.

 

\--

 

"...He likes you."  Sebastian murmurs with a smile, watching me. I'm sitting on the floor, Rex' head resting on my knee, running my fingers through the dog's fur. Sebastian's mother is in the kitchen, pottering around and washing up the dishes, though I'd offered to help. Just like her son, she'd insisted on doing everything herself. We've just had lunch, crisps and sandwiches, and then tea and a scone each, with clotted cream and homemade jam. She'd gone to a lot of trouble, and I immediately felt bizarre... I've never had a person try so hard with me... At least, not a person who isn't under my employ. 

 

"So you're working on the John Honsson film too?" She'd asked, and I'd nodded, smiling, though I felt my cheeks colour when Sebastian squeezed my hand beneath the table.   
  
"I am. It's actually my first. Film, I mean."

 

Sebastian had chuckled, and his mother - Elaine - had lifted a teacup to her lips, smiling. 

 

"You've done very well to get such a big feature your first time." She'd commented, and I'd fallen quiet for a little while, before managing an;

 

"I was just lucky, I think. My audition...-"  
  
"He's amazing." Sebastian had said, looking at me. The adoration in his gaze wasn't lost on me, and certainly not on his mother. That smile behind the teacup had deepened. Where do you come from? She'd asked next, and with a hesitancy, I'd replied 'Ireland', despite the obviousness of my accent. My unwillingness to specify an exact location wasn't missed, and she'd nodded politely, quickly changed the subject back to the film. Sebastian had launched into a recollection of our scenes so far - some of the less risque, at least. Only when I heard him describe the relationship between David and Chester, did I realise just how passionate he was about the project, and I'd suddenly felt a mixture of pride and guilt, biting into my scone. Proud, of myself, for being a part of this.

 

Guilty, for Craig. For the videos. It could still all be ruined. 

 

"Well, it sounds fantastic." Elaine had enthused, and given Sebastian's hand a squeeze across the table. "Are you as keen as Sebastian, James? Or is he getting ahead of himself?"  
  


Sebastian had laughed, and I'd grinned, a little more at ease. "...No. No, he's pretty much got it. It's an amazing process."

 

"Well I'm so pleased for you both. It sounds like such fun."

 

She'd picked up the lunch dishes, served us both more tea, and then headed off to do the washing up without letting either of us offer to help - and batting us away when we tried.

 

We sit on the living room carpet now, Rex laying on me, Sebastian watching us amusedly. We're both stuffed from that lunch, Elaine having insisted we eat the whole platter that she'd prepared. She's wrapping some more for us to take to set, despite our insisting that we have catering. 

 

There's a comfortable silence between us.

 

"We had a dog at the children's home." I reveal quietly, at last, watching Rex. Sebastian just nods, watching me. I think about what he said at the front door, that slight sadness tinging his expression. "...It was more of a guard dog than a pet. But if you gave it a biscuit, it'd be quiet long enough for you to sneak out."

 

I've never told anyone about the home. 

 

"..What was the dog's name?" Sebastian asks, quiet, just... peaceful. Letting me pick or choose whether to share anymore. 

 

"Alex."  
  


He smiles, wryly. "...Like the bodyguard in Essex?"  
  
"...I know. I got a laugh out of that."  
  
He  chuckles, and we fall silent again. The Alsatian's eyes are drooping shut. Sebastian watches him.

 

"He was a service dog with me in Afghanistan. Retired when I did."

 

I raise my eyebrows, surprised at that. Though the pair do seem close.   
  
"...You didn't want to have him at the Southbank flat?"  
  
Sebastian shakes his head, regretful. "It's not fair. I'm not there all day." He shoots a glance at the kitchen. Elaine hums, washing up. "...And my mum gets lonely. She pretended that she didn't want the fuss of a pet, but I know she adores him." He takes out his mobile, flicks through his recently sent files, shows me ten or so pictures of Rex in various locations. Asleep on the sofa, tongue lolling. Running in a snow covered field.  His tone is amused.  "...She keeps me updated."  
  


I laugh quietly, rub behind Rex' ears. The comfortable silence encroaches again, and I think I'll miss this when we have to go back... The peace. Not having to worry about M, about Craig... A brief break from it all. 

 

  Sebastian's sharing so much with me. Sharing his peace, his home. His family.  
  
"I had three sets of foster parents." I confess, at last. Quiet.

 

Sebastian nods, eyes on Rex, words lighthearted. "...Still see them?"

 

"...No. I was... troubled." I pause, considering whether or not to continue. In the end, I do. "...I left the last ones at seventeen, and came across to England. London."  
  
"...Where were you before?"

 

I fall silent, and Sebastian seems to sense that it's a push too far, that I've given all I can give for the day. But after biting the inside of my cheek for a minute, I finally answer.  
  
"Killarney. I was from Killarney."

 

"If anyone wants another cup of tea..." Elaine calls, and I stand quickly, disturbing Rex, who wriggles and sits up, disoriented. 

  
"I'll make it." I offer, but before I can head through to the kitchen, Sebastian's hand is on mine, and he gives a squeeze. I look back at him, vulnerable. I've given him everything. I've given him my past. He knows part of me that the others don't even know - Viana and Mansfield. A life before M - an uncertain childhood, a chunk of who I used to be.

 

"Thank you." He says, simple and quiet. Something warm threatens to crush the unease in my stomach, and I just nod, my mouth dry. Chest fluttering, I head into the kitchen to help Elaine with the drinks - and Rex patters after me, to both my own, and Sebastian's surprise.

 

I hear his quiet chuckle, and smile. 

 

\--

 


	18. The Son

We're still curled up together on the sofa when the sun sets, dusk settling in. Rex is asleep at Sebastian's feet, and Elaine glances over at us from her armchair every now and again, a smile on her face. Sebastian has fallen asleep with his arms around me, and I wish I could stay here forever. It's sentimental and stupid, and Moriarty scoffs at me from inside, but I've never had this. Not with anyone.

 

Part of me wonders if that's why I accepted Craig's violence so readily. 

 

"...He always could sleep anywhere." Elaine says at last, amused, though she watches her son with affection, and I think she must miss him.  
  
"Do you see him often?" I ask, and she gives me a sad smile.  
  
"Not as often as I'd like. He's very busy."  
  
"Life of an actor." I agree ruefully, but look over at Sebastian, resisting the urge to stroke my fingertips down his cheek. Not while his mother's watching. Rex snuffles in his sleep, rolls over and settles his head on his paws.

 

"Have you got any pets, James?"  
  
I used to have a whole company's worth. They're so loyal when you train them properly.

 

"No. I didn't think I liked them."  
  
I smile, and we both look down at the dog. What I mean is clear; I like the Alsatian. He's as loveable as his sleeping owner. 

 

Sebastian's phone begins to ring, and the cosy peace is brought to an end when he stirs, blinking himself to answer it with a gruff voice, still thick with sleep.  
  
"...'Lo? Yeah. Thanks."

 

He ends the call, and Elaine and I watch him expectantly.   
  
"...Is our pick-up here?"  
  
"Yup."

 

\--

 

I really don't want to leave the warmth of the house, feeling more at home here than I have anywhere. It's amazing somehow, to be able to leave my problems at the door, but inevitably, I'll have to pick them up on the way out.

 

We wrap up warm in our puffer jackets, Elaine insisting we wear gloves, and sending us off with tupperware boxes of sandwiches and flasks of tea. She stands at the door to see us off, Rex whining by her slippered feet.

 

"We'll be back, I promise." I laugh, bending down to scratch behind the dog's ears, before we hurry to the car. It's just beginning to rain. 

 

"I'll make up the bed!" Elaine calls after us, and Sebastian thanks her as we're ducking into the car, restricted in our puffer jackets. The car door closes with a thud, and then we're heading off to location in the dry silence, the rain still pattering on the windows.   
  
"...Well." Sebastian says eventually, scratching the back of his head a little nervously. "...What do you think?"  
  
"I love her." I say, simply. "I love your mum."  
  


He grins, and I lean into him, pushing away the sense of foreboding in the back of my mind. I can feel it. I'm falling fast for those blue eyes, those soft lips, the protective arm that finds my shoulders. Elaine was so happy to see him happy. 

 

I look out of the window as we drive, and Sebastian leans in, kisses me on the temple. It's all happened so fast. This. Us. 

 

I close my eyes, shadow of a smile on my lips.

 

\--

 

It's weird, being on set at night time. We haven't done any night shoots yet, and it's bizarre when we arrive to a bustling hub of activity, lights and cameras and crew surrounding that country house in the darkness. Everyone is relieved; the rain has slowed to a drizzle, and looks set to stop. Our filming can go ahead. 

 

Eleanor greets us at the car, and hurries us off to make-up and costume, but I know the drill now, and we're back on the set in a half hour, ready to go. The first scene is between Anne and David, and Geraldine waits in the doorway of the house, talking to one of the runners. I head over to greet her with a hug, a few minutes before we can start, and she smiles conspiratorially.   
  
"Didn't see you at the hotel this afternoon. Could you, perhaps, be sharing a room elsewhere...?"  
  
"Maybe." I smile, and her eyes twinkle mischievously. 

 

"I'm happy for you." She says, and then after a moment, squeezes my fingers. "You deserve happiness, James."

 

She's talking about Craig. I glance over at where Sebastian stands in his puffer jacket, talking to Honsson. 

 

"...It's not always that easy."  
  
"It is. If you're happy." Geraldine tells me, and we're preparing for the take, the runners quickly taking away our jackets, Chelsea dashing over to fix up Geraldine's make-up. "Trust me, darling. It's that simple."

 

I look over at the paparazzi, clamouring for a shot of us over the high fences back by the woodland, which have been draped with thick black sheets to keep them away. I wonder if among the crowds, someone searches for M. I wonder if Burch is looking for me. Viana and Mansfield.

 

I wonder whether the attention will intensify when those videos are released. I need to speak to Craig again.

 

"It isn't." I say quietly to myself, and Geraldine doesn't hear me. "It isn't that simple."

 

\--

 

The scene goes quickly - David knocking at Chester's door only for Anne to send him away - and I'm marveling again at how good Geraldine is. That coldness descends over her, scathing as she speaks to David, subtly threatening to report his unnatural desires to the authorities. It's chilling, and she closes the door in his face. We get it in only two takes, and then the veneer falls away, and she's back to herself, gratefully accepting a coffee and an umbrella. She gives me a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"I'll see you later. Have a nice time."

 

I can almost hear that mischief in her voice, and roll my eyes at her, the older lady chuckling as she goes, guided towards her waiting car. Sebastian heads straight on, Honsson not wanting to waste any time, lest the rain pick up and we have to stop filming. It's the continuation of the same scene, anyway. I quickly check over my next lines in the script, shivering in my costume, and then hurry into place. Sebastian is behind the house, and in a minute, we'll have to repeat the scene from his angle. And then Honsson will put them together, whichever way looks best, in an edit suite. 

 

"Places, people."

 

He counts us down, and then there's silence. Action. 

 

David heads away from the house's door, disheartened after his confrontation with Anne. He's heading back across the darkened grass when Chester calls his name, having appeared around the side of the house.  
  
"David!"  
  
"Chester?"

 

David heads back down, confused, lowering his voice to a whisper as they reach each other, Chester's hands on David's face, stroking back his hair, just so glad to see him. 

 

"How did you know I was here?"  
  
"I heard my mother. I could not let you leave that way."  
  
"She's going to report me, Chester. She's going to tell the authorities."

 

"No. No, she will not. I will make sure of it."  
  
"Chester -"  
  
"To endanger you would be to endanger her own son. She will not."  
  
Chester pushes David back against the side of the house, and kisses him hard. This time, David kisses back, earnest and needy, his hands threading into Chester's hair. 

 

"... I needed to see you."  
  
"I know."

 

"I apologise for my words, earlier. I... I didn't mean what I said."  
  
"I know, David."  They kiss again, and then the front door of the house opens, out of shot. "...Quickly. In here."

 

The scene cuts back to the interior shots, which we've already filmed most of. My lips tingle from Sebastian's kisses, but he steps back respectfully again, with a glance at Honsson. 

 

Just a few more takes, I reason, and then we're done for the night. And then we can be together in peace.

 

\--

 

It's actually six more takes, Honsson deliberating over his angles, and over where David and Chester meet outside the house. By the time we're finished, the rain has picked up again, and is thundering down around us like bullets, the whole crew scrambling to save the lights, the cameras, to bung all the technical equipment in the vans or under covers.

 

Even the press have dissipated under the force of the torrential downpour, and Sebastian and I hastily bid our crew goodbye, running full pelt for the idling cars at the gate's entrance. The few remaining cameras flash in our faces, getting a glimpse of Sebastian's hand around mine, I realise, as he pulls me into the car after him. We're sopping wet, breathing hard from running across the grass, and all it takes is a look from Sebastian before I'm kissing him hard, arms around his neck, and pulling him close.

 

When we pull up at Sebastian's family home twenty minutes later, we're both hot under the collar, having spent the majority of that time with our tongues in one another's mouths. Sebastian's eyes have taken on that hungry quality again, and I notice a little embarrassedly that the driver has politely put up the partition. I climb out of the car, dragging him with me into the pouring rain again, and we run for the front door. Rex goes mad again when we knock, and barrels into Sebastian when Elaine opens the door, gasping at the sight of us.

 

"Oh, you haven't been filming in this?! Come on, get inside quick.."  
  
She leaves us in the hall, hurrying off to find towels while we fuss Rex, trying to calm him down - though in all honesty, it's Sebastian and I that need to calm down. He keeps shooting me those heated looks, and it's all I can do not to push him against the wall and -

 

"Here we go."  
  
"Thanks, Mum."

 

I know we shouldn't. I know that I'm still hurt, that I still belong to Craig, that it'll only make everything worse, but Jesus... 

 

"I'll make you both some hot tea."  
  
"Actually, mum, I think I might... I'm just.. really tired, you know?"  
  
"Oh! Of course. I've made up your bed. James, I've put you in the spare room."  
  
I nod, smile gratefully but my heart is thudding and I have no intention of staying in the spare room. Rex sits in front of us, wagging his tail happily, but Sebastian just toes off his wet shoes and glances at me, before leaning in to hug his mother.  
  
"Thanks for everything today. See you in the morning, alright?"  
  
"Yes. And don't be silly, you're my boy. Is Rex going upstairs with you?"  
  
I can see Sebastian hesitate, and I toe off my own shoes, mop my wet hair with the towel.  
  
"..Er.. Not tonight, maybe. I'm knackered."  
  
"Okay then."  
  
"Thanks for everything, Elaine." I agree, and give her a hug of my own, a little shyly. She seems pleased though, and heads off into the living room, Sebastian leading the way upstairs. 

 

We're shedding our clothes before we even make it to his bedroom.

 

\--

 

"...I shouldn't.." I breathe into his mouth as we kiss, leaning against his bedroom wall, Sebastian down to his boxers. I'm still wearing my t shirt and jeans, those bruises having turned an ugly yellow brown, making my skin look dirty. But he rolls his hips against me hard, and I'm moaning, soft and low against his lips. "...If Craig..-"  
  
"Fuck Craig."  He murmurs, and for once, I agree with that sentiment. I know there must be other reasons... that my body might not be capable yet, that we're endangering our professional relationship, that Honsson won't like it... but I can't quite concentrate on any of them, and I let Sebastian peel away that sopping t shirt, drag down the jeans that are stuck to me and heavy with rainwater, leaving them in a sodden pile on the carpet. I put my bare arms around his neck, kiss him hard, trying to pretend that he can't see the bruises, that he won't be disgusted by me.

 

Sebastian guides me to the bed, and he breaks that kiss to let his lips trail down my neck, soft over those bruised finger marks. 

 

"...Oh.." I whisper, in soft realisation as he travels lower, my skin still cold from the wet clothes as he runs warm lips over my bruises, over every scratch, every angry mark that Craig has left... Claiming me for himself. Putting me back together. 

 

My eyes flutter closed at his kisses, and my fingers curl into the bedsheets, feeling... worshipped, which is odd to say the least. Everything in the past has been quick, dirty and necessary. With Craig... drawn out, and always painful, never enough care. But Sebastian takes things torturously slowly, those lips and a graze of his teeth drawing gasps from my throat. I'm a mess by the time he takes me into his mouth, and I catch the flutter of amusement in his eyes at my moan, loud and desperate, not used to the soft and attentive treatment. I have to pull back after only a few minutes, knowing I won't last long like this. 

 

I could stop this now. But oh, I don't want to. 

 

Sebastian moves on top of me, and then his fingers are slick, a bottle beside my head on the beside table, and the two of us crammed onto a single bed - Sebastian's, from his teenage years. They press against me, and I swear, screw my eyes shut, that desire suddenly abating slightly as I panic that I'll hurt, that after Craig, I'm just not ready -

 

"Jim?"

 

Sebastian's voice is soft, and when I open my eyes, he's looking at me with warm concern. I'm clinging on to him like he's about to torture me, fingernails digging into the skin of his back, so used to being taken like this - hard, unrelenting, uncaring. 

 

"Jim, relax. Just relax. I'm not touching you."  
  
He isn't, I realise. We're naked, my legs around him, but those slick fingers have stilled and pulled back in his concern. I've been holding my breath, I realise, and I slowly let it out, and close my eyes.  
  
"...Sorry." I say, quiet and embarrassed. "...Sorry, I'm..."  
  
"I know." Is all he says, gentle, and I just shake my head.

 

 _I hate what he's done to me. I won't let him win._  
 

"I want this."  
  
"We don't have to.."

 

"No. I want it."

 

My words are resolute, if breathy, and I reach down for his hand, guiding it back into place. I close my eyes, forcing myself to relax. Sebastian leans in to kiss me, and I feel a finger press inside, slick and slow.

 

It hurts. Just a little, but the ache is there, and I breathe through it, concentrating on Sebastian's lips. He pulls back after a moment, and his mouth finds my neck, words breathed by my ear. 

 

"...Best thing I ever did, this film..."

 

His finger slips inside to the knuckle, and I'm counting my breaths, a pleasant flutter in my chest at those words.

 

"...Meeting you..."

 

He pumps the digit slowly, slickly, and I let my legs fall open a little wider, let my lips part, adapting to the sensation. It feels like hours later that he slips in a second finger, and I'm on the verge of asking for it, of begging for more, but I know he's taking it slow on purpose. 

 

"...Sebastian.." 

 

It's just a whisper, but it sounds so unlike me, so thick with desire that I have to blush. He smiles, dips his head and kisses me hard as those fingers move inside me, and my hazy eyes roam the bedroom, distractedly. A desk, with an old computer. A wardrobe, a stack of children's books, and the walls painted green - dim in the darkness. And then I'm brought back to reality when he starts scissoring his fingers, nudging against my prostate and making me arch my back, his name slipping again from my throat.

 

\--

 

When Sebastian's finally satisfied that I'm ready, that my body can handle it, I'm long past being able to change my mind. My nerves are on fire in the best way, my body open and slick, my fingers shaking as I clasp onto his back. My eyes are a little glazed, and Sebastian's mouth is soft, wet when he kisses me, that tongue hungrily seeking out my own.   
  
"Please.." I breathe against his lips, and his hand slips down, strokes himself slick. He smiles against my mouth, and kisses me again, once, twice - and then he's pressing against me, pressing inside as I rake red lines into his skin with my fingernails. 

 

" _...Oh.."_  The moan is keening, caught up in the delicious, blissfulness of that ache as he pushes inside, slick inch by slick inch. 

 

"...Sh, sweetheart.." He murmurs, his own voice breathy, and I suddenly remember his mother downstairs and bite my tongue. But there's amusement in Sebastian's tone, and when his eyes find mine, there's a kind of wonder there. Something else too, other than desire. Something soft. 

 

"More." I manage in a whisper, my gaze glassy with need, and he angles his hips, braces a hand by the side of me until he's buried himself to the hilt and throbbing inside me. I arch my back a little, mouth open, that ache deepening into somehow low and hot, and somehow it's the most addictive, the most perfect feeling in the damned world. 

 

And then he starts to move, and all my attempts to stay quiet shatter into nothingness.

 

\--


	19. The Morning

I wake up gradually, blinking slowly,a warmth in my chest. Light fills the room gently, though rain still patters down on the windows, and I slowly become aware that warm skin is pressed firmly against my own - that Sebastian holds me tight in his arms, still snoring softly. I smile and close my eyes again for a moment, just letting myself enjoy this.

 

I remember with a slight shiver how gentle he was with me. How we moved together, slow and careful, moaning into one another's mouths, my legs around Sebastian's middle. 

 

I open my eyes, looking around the room, taking it in properly. I vaguely remember doing so last night in the dark - but it's different now, clearer, more homely somehow in the morning  light.

 

Lurid green walls make me smile - a child's demand for colour, no doubt. An old chest sits in the corner, labelled 'TOY BOX', and that old fashioned computer I spotted last night is on a desk in front of the window, a stack of vintage games beside it. Something sits in a box on the desk; from this angle, maybe a medal. I can hear Elaine potter around in the kitchen downstairs with the radio on, crockery clinking. The faint pattering of Rex' feet in the hall as the letterbox sounds, inspecting the post that falls onto the doormat.  Sebastian's arms tighten around me, and I suddenly never want to leave this place, this sense of 'home'. My throat feels a little thick... it seems only now I'm beginning to understand what I went through as a child. The loneliness as a teenager, before I became the boss. M.

 

Everything I put myself through at Craig's hands, just to avoid doing things the proper way. Auditioning. Trying. Because who would have wanted me?

 

"...Morning.." Sebastian murmurs, and then his lips are warm on the back of my neck. 

 

Fuck Honsson. Fuck Craig, and everything he's done. 

 

Fuck the business. 

 

Maybe this is all I ever needed.

 

I'm smiling, turning in his arms to kiss him properly, a hand on his cheek.

 

"Good morning."

 

\--

 

It's only Sebastian that has a scene today and it isn't until much later in the afternoon, so for once, we're allowed to just stay in bed. I roll onto my stomach, shivering as I remember those kisses on my bruises, Sebastian's eyes on mine as he propped himself over me.

 

"I'm in so much trouble." I sigh, hint of a lazy smile on my lips as I turn to look at him, and he reaches over, runs a thumb over my cheek. 

 

"He won't touch you."

 

"Honsson, too."

 

"He'll have to suck it up."

 

I laugh, lean in and kiss him again, just enjoying this. That crooked grin, those blue eyes, those warm, roughskinned hands on my body. 

 

I don't mention M. I don't know who that is, anymore.

 

\--

 

When Elaine cracks open the door at around eleven, Rex at her heel, I dive under the covers - very aware that I didn't stay in the spare room that she so kindly set up for me. 

 

"Morning, mum." I can hear the smile in Sebastian's words as he tries not to laugh, and soon Elaine sighs, exasperated.  
  
"Oh come on out, James, honestly."

 

Sheepish, I slide back out, keeping the covers up to my chest and peeking out from behind Sebastian. I don't think she can see the fading bruises.  
  
"I was young once." She comments, and I hide my pink face. She sets down the tray she's holding on the bedside table - laden with a rack of toast, jams, a tea pot and mugs, and a plate of biscuits. Rex puts his front paws on the mattress, and Sebastian, covers still draped strategically over his naked middle, ruffles the dog's ears. 

 

"Thank you Elaine. This looks lovely..."  
  
"Well," She comments knowingly, "You need to build your strength back up, I expect."

 

My face must be scarlet. Sebastian just laughs, and his mother heads out with a chuckle of her own, Rex padding out in hopes for his own breakfast.

 

"Oh God." I whine, hiding my face. "How embarrassing."  
  
"Oh, come on. You didn't really think she wouldn't see you hiding down there? I tried that one in my teens."

 

"In this bed?" I wrinkle my nose in mock disgust, and Sebastian just laughs, pulls me closer. There's barely enough space for him, never mind him too. 

 

"Don't act so scandalised." He dips his head, murmurs by my ear. "...You're no innocent. You certainly knew what you were doing last night..."

 

The purr sends heat into my stomach, and I smile, pulling the covers up over our heads, and finding his lips with mine.

 

\--

 

A little later on, I sit cross legged on the bed, munching on a half slice of toast. Sebastian stands, going through the bag we brought with us, naked, and I admire the beauty of his body - toned from necessary gym use as an actor, and before that, his years in the army. I suppose I should start going to the gym, now. Funnily enough, it's been the last thing on my mind just lately.

 

My gaze settles on that scar, a jagged shape that carves across the smooth, taut skin of his backside. 

 

"Stop looking at it." Sebastian says without looking back at me, sounding amused.  
  
"Your arse, or the scar?"

 

He turns around, and then my eyes are drawn to something else, and I smile, mock innocently. Sebastian just smirks, bending down when he walks over and kissing me again. I thread my fingers into his hair, and he pulls back after a moment.   
  
"...Look at this."

 

He goes to his wardrobe, and opens it - mostly empty, aside from the coat hangers and something thick and khaki on one side. Sebastian lifts it out, holds it against himself, and I realise with a smile that it's his uniform. That he's kept it pristine, or maybe that Elaine has. There's something about his smile, something wistful perhaps, that makes me feel sad. He strokes a hand down the front, smoothing down the lapel, and there's a certain level of care there... I think it would probably still fit him. I think if I wasn't here, he'd probably be putting it on.

 

"You miss it." I comment quietly, and Sebastian takes a long while before he looks up at me. He smiles, and I was right about that sadness.   
  
"...Yeah. Yeah, I do." He hangs it back up again, and then pulls on a clean pair of boxer shorts, before tossing me mine. I pull them on, and then lay down on my stomach, resting my chin on folded arms. Sebastian heads to his desk, and lifts up that medal box. He brings it over, sits beside me, and then passes it over. I prop myself on my elbows and delicately take the ribboned metal from the box. "...It's for bravery." Sebastian says quietly, but he offers no explanation, nothing else. I nod, turning it over in my fingers. There's a silence between us, comfortable and contemplative. 

 

"...You don't like to have it with you?"  
  
He just shakes his head, and again, I don't ask. Perhaps we've both got secrets.

 

Sebastian leans down and kisses me again, and then stands, finding his clothes from the bag. I sit up, and then join him - getting dressed in my own, though he heads for the bathroom a moment later with a towel.   
  
"I'll be out in five minutes. Don't miss me too much."  
  
I roll my eyes, smiling. This weekend has changed things between us. Deepened them, somehow. We may not know everything about one another, but we know enough. We're in this together, now. Last night has changed everything. 

 

"I'll take these breakfast things down to your mum."

 

\--

 

I head downstairs with the tray, and Rex greets me in the hall, tongue lolling from his mouth. I'm laughing as he accompanies me to the kitchen, and Elaine looks up, having been stirring hot water into three mugs.  
  
"Oh - I was just bringing you both a coffee."  
  
"That's okay. I can help now."  I lift the tray. "Where do you...?"

 

"Oh yes..."  
  
She heads over and takes it from me, and begins to tidy away the dishes, sticky with jam and crumbs. 

 

"How did you sleep?"

 

I take over on the coffees, adding milk and sugar to my own. My cheeks are pink. "Very well, thank you. Sorry about this morning.."  
  
Elaine just chuckles. "Don't be sorry, I was only joking. It was very sweet. Like teenagers."

 

"Yeah." I laugh, still embarrassed. I carry the coffees to the little living room, Elaine following after me with Rex at her heel. He sits in front of me when I sit down, licking his chops at the biscuit in my hand.   
  
"No, Rex." Elaine chides, and the dog shrinks down onto the floor, puts a paw over his nose. I smile.

 

"He's very good."  
  
"Army trained. Though he's a big softie."  A pause, and then she adds amusedly, with a sip of her coffee; "...A bit like my son."

 

I nod, smile, sip at my own drink. I can sense it. This is where she warns me off Sebastian. Except... except she reaches over and squeezes my fingers with a coffee-warmed hand.   
  
"...I've never seen him this happy, you know."

 

Those words put a flutter in my chest, something light... Guilt, too. But I'm more resolute, now. Something has shifted with Sebastian and I, and I won't let anyone ruin it. Not Honsson, not Craig... Not... 'M'. 

 

I smile eventually, but it fades after a moment. "...Not even in the forces?"  I think of his wistful look, that khaki uniform held against himself. "...Must have been a huge part of his life."  
  
"It was." Elaine says, sadly herself. "...He really belonged there. But what happened... it hit him too hard."  
  
Something twists in my chest. Didn't he just... get scouted? From the booklet? I assumed he'd just finished his tour, and taken up acting.   
  
"...Oh?" I say, not wanting to reveal that I don't know what she's talking about. I hold my mug a little tighter, and Rex nudges my foot with his nose. 

 

"...Those boys were his best friends. It just came out of nowhere."

 

I bite the inside of my cheek. It? A bomb? An attack? ...Is that how he got his scar? Elaine goes on without being prompted, much to my relief.

 

"He was lucky that he wasn't with the vehicle. He'd... he'd gotten out, gone to clear debris from the road."

 

The story is obvious. A roadside bomb. A tank, or a truck, or Sebastian's best friends. His comrades.   
  
"Was he the only one...?" I begin, and Elaine shakes her head, eyes on Rex.   
  
"Two more survived. For a few days, at least. One of them died back at the camp. The other a few years ago. Complications from his injuries."

 

"That's terrible." I say, and Elaine just smiles sadly. 

 

"He was so lucky the agent saw his photograph. He was at home, with me. She'd seen his picture in the papers..." She waves a hand. "But I'm sure you know all that."  
  


I nod, but of course I didn't. My heart aches for Sebastian; losing everyone. Only a few hours ago, I thought he had the perfect life. 

 

"...And Rex?"

 

"Oh, he was nowhere near the explosion. They were retiring him from service, and Sebastian had taken a liking to him. If they can't find a home for them, they put them down."

 

"...So Sebastian took him."  
  
"I think my poor boy had seen enough death for one lifetime."

 

I nod, and we fall quiet. I feed a happy Rex the last half of my biscuit, and he sits up again, wagging his tail. Elaine smiles, and I know we're both thinking about Sebastian. All he's been through. I wonder if it's influenced everything we've done so far... he couldn't abide the idea of me being hurt, even when we'd only known each other for hours at most. Perhaps he'd already seen enough pain in his life.

 

"What's worse..." Elaine begins again, the sound of the shower upstairs still going. She takes another morose sip of her drink. "...Is that when that happened, his father had died only two months before."

 

Oh. Oh my God. That is worse.

 

Poor, poor Sebastian.  
  
"...I had no idea." I say honestly at last. I'd known his father had died, but I didn't know about the roadside bomb. His head must have been a real mess. 

 

Elaine nods, looks to a photograph on her right, on a side table.  An older man wears sunglasses, a daft party hat on his head, raising a drink in a toast. A happy occasion. 

 

"You seem like a good one." Elaine says softly, eyes on her husband. Then she looks back to me. "Please don't hurt him."

 

I shake my head, words soft. "...I don't... I mean, I have no intention of -"  
  
"I know." Elaine smiles, and reaches across. Squeezes my hand again. "I know."

 

Silence falls between us again, and Rex gets up, pads over to Elaine in the pause. He sits, tail beating down on the carpet, waiting for food or fuss. 

 

A clock ticks on the mantlepiece, and at last, I have to ask.  
  
"...If you don't mind... How.. How did Sebastian's father...?"

 

Elaine smiles, sad. She was expecting it, then. She looks back at the photograph, the mug grasped in her lap. 

 

"... Most people who didn't know Rob assume it was in the forces. They see the old pictures of him in his uniform." 

 

I don't tell her that I made that same mistake. I nod, feeling for them. For poor, broken Sebastian and his mother, left to deal alone with the fall-out.

 

"He was a policeman. He was nearing retirement."

 

She begins to explain tiredly, and something suddenly, bizarrely cold floods my chest. It takes me a second to figure out why. 

 

"He followed a lead. He was on a chase. And he didn't wait for back-up."

 

_Hold on a minute..._

 

"He walked straight into the leader's den. A crime ring."

 

Elaine's voice cracks, with old anger and grief. She looks into her mug. Collects herself.

 

_No. No, no, God... no._

 

"... And he shot Rob dead."

 

_It was me._

\--


	20. The Pit

It was me. 

 

I killed Sebastian's father. 

 

Bile has risen in my throat, and my chest feels tight as my mind whirs, Elaine looking over at me after a moment, her own morose expression quickly becoming concerned.   
  
"James? Are you alright?"

 

I blink a few times, fast, trying to gather myself, trying not to let my  emotions show on my face, but it's a weak effort, and I can only manage a nod.  
  
"...That's... terrible..."  My voice sounds stilted, miles away in my own head, and I'm going back to that evening, that night - years and years ago, a man in uniform pointing a gun between my eyes.

 

"...It tore Sebastian apart." Elaine comments quietly, sadly, but she reaches over and squeezes my hand again, and I jump, not expecting the touch. My head is on fire. Thinking back. Giving the order. I gave the order. I saw him fall. 

 

_It tore Sebastian apart._

 

I shake away the memory and stand suddenly, my heart thudding unsteadily.  Elaine glances at me, confused. 

 

I'm looking around myself. Homely photographs and a worn, comfortable sofa look back at me. An Alsatian waits, tongue lolling happily, for my next move.  There's a warm mug in my hand, and my stomach is full from breakfast, parts of me aching pleasantly from last night.

 

_Where am I? Why am I here? I don't belong here._

_Who are you?_

 

"James?" Elaine says again, concern in her eyes, and I'm hastily setting down that coffee mug, some of the contents sloshing out onto the coffee table.   
  
"Sorry... sorry -"  My hands hover, flustered around the spill, but Elaine's already there with a tissue, and I take a step back, my fraught mind suddenly focusing on that photograph again. The old man, behind the sunglasses, beneath the party hat. It's him. Of course it's him. Of course it had to have been him.

 

"Don't worry. It's just coffee."

 

I don't belong here. I don't belong in this house, amidst their pain and grief. I'm almost mocking them. 

 

The empty spaces are suddenly obvious to me. The worn armchair where the man will never sit again. The photographs around the house, the ones I never looked closely enough at... The lonely space beside Elaine, that Sebastian has tried to fill with Rex. That resignation in Sebastian's eyes when he'd first told me his father was dead. What he must have gone through, only months before losing all his friends.

 

They'll never have justice. They'll never catch M.

 

"I need some air."  I say, and the words are strangled in my throat. Elaine looks up from dabbing the coffee spill, but I'm already gone from the room, forcing on my shoes, and heading for the door. She catches me when I'm halfway up the drive, already being pelted with rain. Somehow, I've grabbed a jacket.  
  
"James!"

 

I don't hear what else she shouts, but suddenly Rex is padding  along beside me, his lead held in his mouth. She doesn't want me to go out alone. She cares about me, and I've taken everything from her.

 

"No, Rex-"  I try and make him go back inside, but the dog just holds his lead patiently, getting pelted by the rain. 

 

_I'll leave him tied to a lamp post. I'll let him find his own way home. I can't come back here._

 

I set off at a jog, and the dog trots beside me, and at last, reluctantly, I take his lead. My head is all over the place, and the water beats down on us both, flattening Rex' fur to his back, and my hair to my scalp. I reach the end of the road, turn left, turn right, keep running. A main road. Turn left. Turn Right. Keep running. My mind whirs, and I feel sick, and that voice creeps back to life inside my head.

 

I hadn't even realised that he'd gone. Moriarty.

 

_You can't escape me. You can't escape who you are._

 

Shut up. Leave me alone. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. A happy family, warm skin pressing against mine in the early morning, the gentle kiss of someone who really cares... International reputation and money seem laughable, now. Everything I went through to get them... Everything I endured to get cast in a Honsson film, and I never really needed it. 

 

_Sentimental idiot. You never could have had that._

 

He's right, I know he's right. Sebastian was always going to be too good for me. Too caring, too sweet, too grounded in the pain and suffering that he'd endured in the past. I think of the way he grabbed Craig's arm, slammed him into the table when he tried to grab at me. 

 

All we could have had together... I'd ruined it before it even started. I just didn't realise.

 

Rex and I are running full pelt now, though my chest burns and my eyes sting from the rain, still getting heavier. I have no idea where we are, only that we're no longer in the streets, and there are stones, gravel maybe, beneath my feet. I know I'm not thinking straight, but I need to get away, need to get out of here, away from Sebastian and his broken family, away from the mess that I created with my own murderous hands.

 

_You used to enjoy it._

 

"Shut up!" I scream aloud, and Rex looks up at me as we run, rain blurring my vision. I'm running blindly, tripping, staggering on stone and grass. 

 

_You still do._

_You'd kill that man all over again._

 

"No!" I yell, and to anyone nearby I must look crazy. He tried to kill me, I try and reason with myself, like it matters. He pointed a gun between my eyes. I had no choice. The memory hits, hard and heavy. He was rogue. He wasn't loyal to the police force. He was rogue, working for Burch. He told me, in so many words, before I... Before I... 

 

_Like it matters, now._

 

"Stop it!"  My scream is shrill, and I fall onto my knees on grass and stone, feeling them press hard into my trousers, into the skin of my knees. I drop Rex' lead, clamp my hands over my ears and screw my eyes shut, as if it might make it go away. I'd take a beating from Craig to make it stop. I'd take ten. Twenty. I'd do anything to make it go away. For it not to have happened. 

 

Rex whines unhappily, and I put my hands in front of me, start crawling across the stone - and then the dog is barking, loud and pointed, a cold nose and wet fur nudging my side. 

 

"Rex.." I manage, but then my hands find nothingness, and my stomach lurches as I'm catapulted downwards, ten feet it must be, and slam into an unyielding rock bottom. All the air  is forced out of my lungs, and I open my mouth in a silent yell, the pain sudden and intense. The world fades to black, to the blurry sight of the Alsatian stood, barking and pacing anxiously, silhouetted against the sky above the construction pit. 

 

\--

 

"James? Jim?"

 

"I think I've found him!"  
  
"John! Over here!"  
  
My eyes are still closed, my body still lying still at the bottom of the pit, a small well of muddy rainwater pooling by my cheek. I can taste it, I realise abstractly; the dirt, the mud, the tang of the rainwater - and then the pain hits me all at once, a throbbing, stiff ache all over, no doubt made worse by the injuries I already had. I can't lift my head, groggy, but I manage to force my eyes open, and I can see Rex' shape bound back into view, barking and whining urgently, dashing his paws at the edge of the pit as if he means to jump in after me. 

 

Voices. Getting clearer.

 

I groan, close my eyes, my head hazy. How did I get here? Was I... running? I had Rex with me. I'd fallen. I was crawling... 

 

The memory hits me just as suddenly as the pain did, and then I'm screwing my eyes shut again, curling up on myself, cold and wet, my clothes sodden. I don't want them to come for me. I don't want them to get me out. I want to stay here, in the ground, where I belong.

 

M should have died a long time ago. 

 

I wonder where they buried Sebastian's father. 

 

"James? Can you hear me?"

 

I don't recognise the voice, and I don't open my eyes, but soon I hear Honsson join whoever is looking down on me, his voice the same commanding, reasoning tone he uses when directing us. Absently, I wonder what this all means for the film. I can't finish this. I can't stay, looking into Sebastian's eyes each day. 

 

The thought causes me so much more pain. 

 

_Get back to what you do best. You never belonged here anyway._

 

"We're coming down for you, James."

 

"..No..." I whine, and close my eyes again. The world swims, and then there's a wet nose snuffling it's way into my arms, wet, muddied fur curling close to me. I shiver, and the warmth of Rex' body helps, the dog whining again.  "...You... don't belong with me either.."

 

It's a small comfort to me that at least the dog didn't know Sebastian's father. They got him after that. I didn't murder his master.   
  
"You need to look after them." I tell him groggily anyway, not perturbed in the slightest that I'm talking to a dog. Rex licks my face, just once, and then rests his muzzle on my shoulder, curled right up against me and keeping my face from the puddling water. 

 

I must black out again, because when I next open my eyes, I'm being lifted with the dog in some sort of make-shift sling, the two of us hoisted from the pit. The dimness of the cloudy day suddenly surrounds me, and I want to be back in the ground, back in the hole, hiding away from the world. Where I belong.

 

 _Coward_. 

 

The moment the hoist sets us down on the stony grass, I realise groggily that we're in some kind of construction park. That I must have run straight through in my distress. That Rex was trying to warn me, with his barking and nudging. 

 

"James. Look at me."

 

Honsson is holding my arms, and it takes a great deal of concentration to look back at him. His eyes are sharp, anxious. There are people with him in raincoats, and one of them is Eleanor, talking on her phone while she looks at me. The others are crew. Everyone is watching me. Soon a man pushes through the crowd with a neon jacket and a box, and starts prodding and poking me, sitting me down on the grass, though Rex won't leave my side, and wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.

 

"Can you look left and right for me, James? Can you follow my finger, please? Now touch your finger to my nose? Did you hit your head at all?"

 

I do as he says with numb tiredness,  but I don't feel like I'll pass out again. Just groggy. The rain is still falling, and I shiver in my wet clothes, that blanket not doing much to help. I can't tell if the emptiness I feel is from the fall, or from what I've learned. I can't stay. My new life is finished as quickly as it started. 

 

_You never belonged here, anyway._

 

At last, the paramedic seems satisfied that I'm not in imminent danger - though I don't let him examine my sides, worried about that bruising.  He helps me up, makes me stretch my arms this way and that, bend over, and then walk in a circle, until he's satisfied that I don't have any spinal injuries. 

 

"There are three search parties out looking for you." Eleanor tells me, when they've got me sitting in the back of the paramedic's car, still shivering, numbly holding a paper cup of tea. "Sebastian's going crazy. He's on his way."  
  
"He's probably worried about Rex." I say absently, my tongue heavy in my mouth, the words warped by my clattering teeth. Eleanor just gives me a strange look - almost pitying. I close my eyes again, lean my head against the side of the car. Rex still hasn't left my side, the wet dog curled up beside me where I sit, head in my lap. 

 

"What happened?" Eleanor asks, but I don't answer her, just lost in my own numbness. I can't stay. I need to leave. I need to go now, before Sebastian can get here, before he can find out what I've done. "James, where are you going? John!"

 

Eleanor sounds panicked as I get up, and Rex is after me in a second, pressing close by my side as I walk with uneven clumsiness away from the paramedic's car - though I have no idea where I'm going, or where I am. A firm hand grips my arm, and then Honsson is next to me, trying to guide me back to sit down.   
  
"No.." I say, and he opens his mouth to argue - and then spots something behind me, relief flickering over his face. I'm not sure I have the energy, the motivation to turn around and look,  but Honsson squeezes my shoulder. "Here you go. He's here."

 

_No. No, Sebastian, I can't, I don't want to see you. You don't understand._

 

"Craig's going to take you home."

 

Honsson turns me round gently, and my groggy eyes settle on those black ones, Craig's smile one of forced gentleness as he heads over from his car, keys in his hand and a slight limp in his gait. 

 

"Hello, my darling." He simpers, and strokes my hair back from my head. I sway a little on the spot, feeling sick. By my side, Rex' hackles are up. He growls. The gentleness is uncharacteristic of Craig. There's a danger underneath that only I can see. "Shall I take you home, mm?"

 

"You're going to be out for a week." Honsson tells me, "It's the least I can do, get past the insurance. I can't risk you keeling over on set, kiddo."

 

The words are hollow in my ears. I don't say anything, just pat Rex a little meaninglessly, the world still swimming in front of my eyes. Craig's eyes flick to the growling dog with a glimmer of distaste. 

 

"Yes." I manage at last, the words numb and flat from my own lips. I can't go forward. I need to get out of here. 

 

It makes sense. 

 

"Take me home."

 

\--

 


	21. The Car

When Craig tries to steer me towards where he's parked, back on the main road, Honsson has to physically pull Rex from my side using his abandoned lead. The usually docile dog snarls and snaps, and I bend down to stroke him again, to cup his muzzle in my hands. Look after them, I want to tell him. You look after them. 

 

Rex howls when I let Craig lead me away, his arm around my shoulders more of a restraint than a guide. I glance back with a pang in my chest as we walk past the remaining members of my search party - all the crew, the local people, all soaked through their raincoats but triumphant, waving me off as I go. Honsson appears a little harried, Eleanor even more so - but I suppose, they've just had to postpone the filming for a week, or at least, put back my scenes. I imagine they'll film all they can with the others.

 

I wonder what they'll say when they realise I'm not coming back.

 

"When did you get a dog?" Craig mutters when we're finally nearing the main road, a few of the search party cars parked here, but nobody around. He sounds irritated.   
  
"It's Sebastian's."

 

"Of course." He mutters. I try not to feel a sick sense of satisfaction at the limp, no doubt from my knife to his thigh. It was a spur of the moment decision, and I was sure that he'd release those videos as punishment. But nothing yet. I realise with a sudden uneasiness that I've left my bag at Sebastian's house. My money, all my clothes... Craig's laptop. They're all there. I have nothing, absolutely nothing, and even the clothes on my back are sopping wet. My fingers are numb with cold.

 

"I must be a saint." Craig says, as he lays down a tarpaulin on the passenger seat for me to sit on, obviously not wanting my wet clothes to damage his car interior. "Taking you back. Do you know that? A saint."

 

I don't say anything. I don't want to make it worse, get myself in more trouble. My head pounds, my heart broken, and I'm about to get in when he takes my arm, jolts me so hard that I wince.

 

"You don't think I'd let you get in there in that state, do you?"  There's something vindictive about his disgusted sneer. 

 

I just swallow, tired, just wanting to be at home already. The mud is beginning to crust.  
  
"Take your clothes off. All of them."

 

I look at the tarpaulin, confused. There's no way I'd get anything on the car. "But -"

 

"I'm waiting."

 

He folds his arms over his chest, and it clicks. This isn't about the mud, or the car. This is Craig on a quest for revenge. To strip me back down to the shell of a person he had before, and keep me that way. Tighten the chain. He means to shame me. 

 

_What's the alternative? You have nothing. No one._

_Sebastian won't want anything to do with you._

Despite Moriarty's cruel words in my head, the crime boss has an ounce more respect for Craig's newest tactic. It's all mental, degradation by public shame rather than by the brute force of his fists. Perhaps we underestimated him.

 

But me? It just makes me feel sick. Hopeless.  I glance around, but the back road is still abandoned, and quickly, quietly, I pull off my wet clothes with numb fingertips, clumsy from the cold. Craig's eyes roam over me as I undress, possessive and intimate, and I know he sees his handiwork - those yellowing bruises as I shiver, down to my socks and boxer shorts. 

 

"Those too."  
  


I close my eyes, cheeks hot in my humiliation. I can hear voices back over by the construction site, and so I quickly take off my underwear and socks, pick them up with the rest of my clothes and make to hurry into the car. But Craig catches me before I can climb in. 

 

"Craig, please -" My voice is exhausted, but he's pinning me back against the metalwork, searing cold against my frozen skin. A hand fists in my hair, tugging brutally, and I yelp, head drawn back so he can spit his threat by my ear.   
  
"Don't you try and run from me. Do you hear me?"

 

"Yes." I say, eyes squeezed shut. Numb. Those voices are getting louder. 

 

"What?"

 

"I said yes, Craig. Yes, I hear you. Please -"

 

He uses that leverage to slam my head forward into the car, and I crumple, black spots in my vision. My nose is bleeding, and I've bitten down on my tongue. I'm on my hands and knees on the wet tarmac, naked, and he kicks me hard in the side, so that the blood already welling in my mouth is expelled over the road. My eyes slip closed. This morning, I woke up to arms around my waist. Warm, soft kisses. 

 

As the voices get louder still, Craig wrenches me up and forces me into the car. I'm dazed, my head aching, blood dripping from my nose into my mouth, and welling still around my tongue. My fingers and toes are frozen, and I shiver violently, head bowed. Humiliated.

 

There are no illusions here, anymore. 

 

Moriarty is gone. And so is James; the man Sebastian knew. The one he brought from the shell. 

 

I've hit rock bottom. 

 

_Who are you, now?_

 

As Craig starts the engine and pulls off, I think I might be passing out. It could be the cold, it could be the pain. Maybe it's just me shutting down, at last. Right now, I think I could find a sweet relief in death. Shame burns in my chest at that thought. I never thought I could be broken, beaten down to this. 

 

Soon, Craig reaches over again, and that fist that finds my hair drags me down to his crotch. I wordlessly give him what he wants, eyes watering as I take him into the back of my throat as he drives, gagging when he forces me down too hard, which he does again, and again, and again. When he comes, he holds my head down, and I choke, coughing and spluttering as he laughs. 

 

"You just wait until what I've got in store for you at home, Jim."  He tells me, over and over again. "You just wait."

 

And at this point, I find that I can't bring myself to care.

 

\--

 

I must fall asleep, because the next thing I'm aware of is Craig yelling, the car swerving as he honks at the traffic ahead. We're not on a busy road, but a car has pulled in front of us, and he honks again and again, the driver not seeming to want to move. 

 

I'm wrapped in an old picnic blanket, the blood having dried on my face, and I must look a state. I'm half asleep or half conscious, I can't quite decide... Craig finally tossed the blanket at me a while back, with a scathing remark that my goose pimples were disgusting him. It doesn't cover much, and I still can't feel my fingers and toes, but... it's a small mercy. 

 

Back there on the motorway, I'd been tempted to open the door and throw myself out. Perhaps if I was lucky, it'd be quick. Perhaps I'd go under the wheels of a lorry. But the thought of being identified naked, my battered face splashed on the tabloid pages... 

 

_Vain even in the face of death. You really are an actor._

 

Craig is still ranting and raving, but my eyes are drooping shut again, and I almost miss when the driver climbs out of the car parked across from us, those blue eyes blazing. I manage to lift my head, and I catch sight of Sebastian's furious expression - seconds before my door opens, and the cold air rushes in.   
  
"...No.." I protest with a shiver, closing my eyes against the wind, the other cars pulling past us now and leaving our two cars stranded in the middle of an empty road. "...Sebastian, don't -"

 

I'm groggy, my reactions slow, my words numbed by cold. Sebastian blinks a few times, surprised, and then bends down beside me, one of those warm and roughskinned hands cupping my cheek.  "..James?"

 

His voice sounds disbelieving, upset. I wonder how I must look to him. Bloodied, naked apart from the blanket, veering in and out of consciousness. Part of me wants to grab him, to beg me to take him back to Elaine's house with the warm sofa and the platter of sandwiches and Rex curled in my lap... but the realisation comes back, and hits me like a ton of bricks. What I've done to them. What I can never escape from. 

 

I just look away, and try and pull my face from his grasp.

 

Sebastian's face changes. It begins in his eyes; pure, unadulterated rage, and seems to take over the rest of his body, muscles pulling taut as he straightens, his gaze set on Craig, who is halfway out of the car already. 

 

"Should have known it'd be you." Craig spits, an enraged grimace on his face as he crosses the front of the car. "You need to learn to fuck off."

 

Sebastian doesn't say a word. He just pulls back a hand, and before I've even registered what he's about to do, he punches Craig so hard in the face that he goes down against the bonnet of the car, and onto the floor. He stands over him, eyes blazing for a moment, and then calmly comes back to me, holding out a hand. Though it seems to take him a lot of effort to calm the anger in his voice.  
  
"...I've got your bag in my car. Come on. You must be freezing."  
  
I'm mortified, is what I am. I'm surprised he recognises me like this. I just turn my face away, resist the sweet temptation to put my hand in his, and cling on to the edges of my blanket.

 

"...Jim?"

 

I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh God, Sebastian, go away. Leave me be.

 

"...I can't..."  
  
Sebastian purses his lips into an anxious frown, bends down by the car, and looks in at me properly.   
  
"I don't know what he's said to you, but you're safe now. I'm here."

 

I can't meet his gaze.

 

_I killed your father. You don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of._

 

"I'm staying." My voice cracks.

 

_Weak. Pathetic._

 

Sebastian waits for a moment at that, and then rises again, walking back around to Craig, who's just pulling himself up, using the car for leverage. He's sporting a swelling eye, and Sebastian grabs him by the front of his fleece, shakes him hard.   
  
"What the fuck have you said to him? What have you done?"

 

Craig glances in at me, and an ugly smile blooms on his face.

 

"He loves me, doesn't he? Can't break a bond like that."

 

I look away. I wish more than anything that I could stop this. I wish I'd never started on this journey.

 

 _Two men are fighting over you, and you just sit here. Weak. Disgusting_.  _You've never been more of a damsel_.

 

"He's a little cockslut, do you know that?" Craig purrs, leaning in to sneer the words in Sebastian's face. "Couldn't even wait until we got home. Stripped off in the car and sucked me off right there, didn't you Jimmy?"

 

I close my eyes, grit my teeth. Mortified doesn't even cover it. I want to curl up. I want to die. 

 

_Who are you?_

 

"You're not taking him back with you."  Sebastian says, those hands still fisted in Craig's fleece, teeth gritted. "...Not a chance."

 

"Take a hint, mate. He doesn't want you."

 

Sebastian's jaw is taut, but uncertainty flickers across his expression. I curl up on the seat, drape the blanket over myself and just wait for it to be over. For Craig to come back.

_Pathetic. Weak._

Go away, Sebastian. Please. Just go.

_"_ Do you know," Craig spits, with a grin in my direction. "...His real name isn't even James?"

 

Something goes cold in my stomach, and I lower that blanket from my face a fraction, looking back at Craig's vindictive expression with a thick throat.

 

_Nobody knows that._

 

Sebastian glances at me, confused. But he doesn't let Craig go.

 

"Oh no." Craig continues, jeering. "There are sixty two James Moriartys in the UK. More in Ireland. And not a single one of them is sitting in my car."

 

_How does he know? He's been looking through the public records..._

 

"In fact..." Craig drawls, "I bet nothing you know about him is true, is it Sebastian?"

 

Sebastian's knuckles are white on Craig's shirt. He doesn't say anything, but glares at the man, looking very much like he'd like to kill him.

 

"See, Jim and me. I knew him long before your little videos together. I knew him when he was nothing better than a thief in a suit, didn't I, Jimmy? Oh, but he was much more than that..."

 

I'm sitting up straight, watching Craig wide-eyed, still in my shock. How does he know all this? He knew the name... He knew the name, but nothing else.

 

"The things I know..." Craig whistles. "I could ruin him. Forget acting. He'll be spending his days hiding that pretty little arse from the prison daddies...-"

 

"What's he talking about?" Sebastian says, to me, though he doesn't take his eyes off Craig.  
  
"... Just go home, Sebastian." I urge, sitting up again, my voice quiet, a croak in my throat. I'm not even sure he can hear me from the car. So much has happened today already.... I have no idea what time it is, how long I was in that pit, how long we've been driving, in and out of consciousness.. Everything is ruined, everything is hopeless. And now this. "Please."

 

_He's trying to rescue you again._

_How many times can you be put back together?_

 

"Not without you." He says, flat, and I close my eyes. I wish more than anything that he hadn't come after me. Seen me like this, battered and humiliated. Again.

 

"Can't take no for an answer?" Craig jeers, and all of a sudden, Sebastian cracks. I see it happen almost in slow motion, that glint of rage in his eyes, that hatred for Craig taking over.

 

Sebastian's fist connects with Craig's face again, a harsh uppercut this time, sending the casting director sprawling onto his back in the road. Craig just guffaws, gets unsteadily to his feet, and braces himself again, grinning with a bloodied, furious smile. 

 

I call to him from the car, yelling for him to stop, not wanting this to happen. Why can't he just leave me? Go home?  I open the door, but I have no shoes and socks, no clothes and by the time I've reached into the back to find them, Sebastian has already forced a struggling Craig down onto his back.

 

_The things he knows..._

 

"Sebastian!"

 

And suddenly, it's an onslaught. Sebastian is punching him, swift, hard cracks of his fist that make me flinch, one, after the other, after the other, until Craig's laughing begins to die away to something garbled, just... wet noise, and Sebastian's knuckles are red. His expression is hard fury, resigned and yet triumphant at the same time. He's been waiting for this.

 

"Sebastian, no!"

 

I scream at him through the windshield, and at last he pauses - just for a second, a fraction of a second in which he looks at me, and seems to... gather himself.

 

He straightens, and for a heartstopping minute, I think that Craig is dead. But then a bloodied hand slams down onto the car's bonnet, making me jump. He scrabbles for purchase, trying to pull himself up, but Sebastian is already walking away, walking back to me, opening my door and wordlessly holding out a crimson, knuckle-grazed hand. 

 

This time, I take it silently.

 

I half walk, half let him carry me, wrapped in that blanket, to his own car a few metres away. I don't recognise it. It must be borrowed, or maybe Elaine's.  My teeth chatter, the wind picking up, chapping my exposed skin, and Sebastian helps me into the car, before closing the door after me.

 

I watch Craig through the windshield as he staggers about, clutching his ruined face. He's trying to slur something at Sebastian, some kind of insult or garbled curse, but Sebastian doesn't so much as look back. Craig's glazed eyes are furious, and they settle on me. He begins to lope towards the car, but Sebastian takes his seat.

 

_Craig knows about me. He knows about M._

_More than he knew before._

_How?_

 

Neither of us mention Sebastian's grazed knuckles, that brutal beating, so out of character from the sweet, cheeky grinned man I know. 

 

Sebastian starts the engine, pulls away in silence.

 

Craig stands in the road, watching us go. My eyes follow him in the rear view mirror, and he's grinning, swaying slightly on the spot, a bloodied and vindictive smile. 

_He knows._

 

\--

 

"Would it have been so hard," Sebastian says at last, stiff and upset, "To just say 'I don't want to be with you'?"

 

He's breaking a silence that we've kept up for ten minutes now, while he navigates the London traffic. I'm not sure whether he's taking me back to Croydon, back to the Southbank flat, to Essex, or somewhere else entirely.  We've hit traffic, and have been sitting in a thick and uncomfortable silence as I pulled on clothes from my bag, groggy and clumsy, and then mopped my bloodied nose with a wet wipe he passed over wordlessly. 

 

His words are the first breaking of that silence, and I just look out of the window, arms around my own chest, thankfully now hidden beneath my jumper.   
  
"...I've never seen you like that before."  
  


The quiet words are my way of avoiding the subject. Avoiding it, because I really don't want to do this. I'm too much of a coward to end things properly, verbally, face to face. 

 

A muscle jumps in Sebastian's jaw, fingers curling tighter around the steering wheel. I think about the wet crunch of Craig's bones beneath Sebastian's fists.

 

"He had no right to treat you like that. No matter what happened."

 

_I deserve a hundred times more._

 

"I thought you might kill him." I say carefully, and risk a glance in Sebastian's direction. Just the sight of him makes me ache. I see so much potential there, so much I want for us, for myself. Even now, with that beautiful face, angular in his upset.  And yet it's all so out of reach. I can't have him. Not after what I've done.  His eyes find his own grazed knuckles.  
  


"So did I." He says flatly. Another few terrible minutes pass in tense silence, and then we're on the move again, driving down a city road. I distract myself with morosely feeling the contents of my bag. The money's all still there. The laptop, too. My clothes, neatly folded..

 

"Did Rex -"  
  
"He's with my mum."

 

I sigh at that brusque tone. It hurts me. God, it hurts me. 

 

"Sebastian, please.."

 

"You went with Craig."  He says, and the words are quiet, pained somehow. Like there's a part of him cracking. Like that anger is ebbing from him, bit by bit. That unrestrained fury fading into hurt. "After everything he's done... after everything I... we..."  He shakes his head, and that muscle jumps again. He looks over at me. "Why?"

 

"...They said he'd take me home."  
  


"Yeah, with him. You knew what that meant."

 

I fall silent. I did. Of course I did. I wanted to be punished.

 

Sebastian presses on, urgent. 

 

"Why didn't you get them to call me? Even if you... didn't feel..." He tails off, exasperated. "I'd have come and got you, anyway. I'd have helped anyway, for God's sake, Jim."

 

"... I couldn't." I say after a long while, and it's quiet, pathetic. I close my eyes again. 

 

"Why?" Sebastian shoots back. "Because you're too proud? Because you'd rather see yourself beaten black and blue than accept help from someone that can give it? Rather let him drive you home and kill you than let me hit him?"

 

I'm quieter still. "You don't understand."

 

"Oh, I don't understand again!" He's yelling now, but when I glance over at him, his eyes are shining, and the sight is more horrifying than if he'd been as angry as Craig. By staying, I hurt him. By running, I hurt him. I can't win. "I don't understand, just like I didn't understand why you'd stay with him in the first place? Maybe if you told me a single thing about you, about where you came from, about why your name isn't... what I think it is..."  
  


He looks at me, and I turn my face away,  shame in my expression. I can't. I just can't. 

 

"Then," He continues, "Maybe then, I'd understand!"

 

\--

 

We drive in silence for another few minutes, and something has settled between us. Something resigned, and altogether more horrible than the tense silence.  My eyes are on the window, watching the city fly by. It feels like hours since either of us have spoken, and the silence seems to roar in my ears.  I have to do this properly. I at least have to let him know why I can't give him what he wants.

 

He can't have me. He doesn't know what I am.

 

When I speak, my voice is quiet. Almost inaudible.

 

"I don't know what my name was, when I was born."

 

Sebastian glances over at me, and frowns, his attention back on the road. He doesn't ask me to go on... but he doesn't tell me to stop, either. 

 

"They called me James at the first place. Moriarty, after the founder of the home. Nobody knew where I'd come from, and by the time I was old enough to ask, nobody remembered the woman that had dropped me off."

 

Sebastian's hard expression cracks a little, and he sighs.  
  
"...Jim...-"

 

"I grew up feral, more or less. They let us run riot, and I learned a lot from the older kids. By ten, I was making a living on petty crime. Stealing wallets, lifting watches from wrists...  By fifteen, it was drugs.  Just selling them. I knew enough about where the others came from to know that ingesting your cashflow would ruin your life. And your kids' too."

 

Sebastian has gone silent, and that anger has abated completely. I see pity in his gaze, and I hate it, I hate every second of it.

 

"I had three foster families, and the last one was only for a few months. A stop gap, before I moved to England.  The first two sent me back to the home. I destroyed their houses. Burned the nice things I was given out of spite, because I knew it was all pity. They felt sorry for me. At school, I excelled at the sciences, but I left at sixteen. I had more than a few incidents with the other children."

 

A pause, and then this is it. This is where it starts.

 

I look away when I say it.

 

"I killed a boy before I was even a teenager. His name was Carl Powers, and he laughed at me."

 

I don't know what Sebastian is doing, what he's thinking now, but the car has stopped. He's pulled over at the side of the road, and the silence when he kills the engine is shrill in my ears. I feel his eyes on me., and keep mine on the verge at the side of the road. I have to go on now.

 

"I moved to England, and I picked up where I left off. I lived in a hostel, and I earned my money through pickpocketing and petty crime. I'd hear about a job, and I'd join in. And soon, I was leading them. And then, hiring men of my own. And then it got bigger, and bigger, and I was twenty two, and running my own empire of crime. And nothing small, anymore. Robberies, daylight heists, drug trafficking... I had fingers in a lot of pies."

 

My hand curl tighter around the door handle, eyes on that rather than Sebastian. As if I'm ready to bolt. 

 

He says nothing. Just listens. 

 

"They called me a consulting criminal. They say if I'd kept going, that I could have had governments at my feet." I pause. "But I had to step on a lot of people to get there. Other bosses. Dead at twenty eight, at thirty four, the oldest. I realised quickly that I'd never have the kind of safety I craved. The security. Somebody would always be looking to get me. To take what I had."  
  
I take a breath, resigned now.  
  
"So I took a step back. I went anonymous, hired people to do the dirty work for me, gave orders from behind a telephone. But I was thinking bigger. I was still hungry for life, for reputation, still wanted to be known after being raised... anonymous. Raised as James Moriarty, the boy with no background, no real name. No family. Your mother... your... Elaine."  My throat is thick, and I clear it. "You don't realise how lucky you are. A home, like that..."

 

"Jim.."

 

Sebastian's voice is soft, inexplicably so, somehow. But I keep going. 

 

"I met Craig in a bar, when I was supposed to be scoping out a client. He told me he was a casting director. That I had the look, had what it took to make it in film. It was my chance for something... clean. And I took it."  I have to finish this, now. "I met you, the most... arrogant, ridiculous... self-heroic idiot..." A bitter smile.  "I was getting away from him, bit by bit -"  
  
"So what changed?" Sebastian asks me, and he reaches for my hand. After all that. I just told him that I'm a killer, that I've lied to him, that all this time, I've been running away from life as a fugitive. That I've orchestrated crime, drug deals, deaths... How can he understand? How can he be so accepting? I pull my hand away, squeeze my eyes shut. 

 

_This is harder. This is where you turn away._

 

"I didn't know." I try, my voice a touch more despairing now, almost trying to convince myself, more than Sebastian. "I swear, I didn't know."  
  
"Didn't know... what?"

 

"Your mother. She told me. We were sitting together, and she told me about your father. She told me how your father died."

 

Sebastian looks confused, and then all at once, something seems to click, and something akin to disbelief, to sudden shock, flits across his expression. His lips part in surprise, but no words come out. I see it already. It's written across his face. 

 

My voice wavers, a little more than a resigned rasp in my throat. But it's the truth. 

 

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

 

It's the truth, and he deserves that much.

 

"... It was me. I killed him. I killed your father, Sebastian."

 

\--


	22. The Quiet

Sebastian is struck dumb, and I lean away from him slightly, prepared for those brutal fists, the ones that pummeled Craig's face into a mess. I wouldn't blame him. He's hurting, he's in shock. I lied to him, I concealed. He's earned the right to inflict pain. The pain I've brought upon his family myself can't even begin to be paid back. 

 

The silence in the car is suddenly stifling, suffocating, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in Sebastian's mind, the stuttered thumping of his heart. I can almost hear him fitting it all together in his head. That need for justice. And it's me. The man he's kissed, taken to bed, taken into his family home. It was me. 

 

He doesn't say anything for a long few minutes, and when he does, I can tell it's with great difficulty. His eyes are fixed, troubled, on the steering wheel.

 

"How long have you known?"

 

"... A few hours." 

 

"That's why you ran." 

 

"Yes."

 

And then it's silent again, the two of us both facing front. Stiff. Uncomfortable. He's breathing through his nose, lips clamped tight together.

 

_It's long ruined, now. Whatever we had. It's ruined._

 

I think of all the things that I should be saying. How I should be sobbing, telling him I'm sorry, begging him to forgive me, that I didn't have a choice, that his father had a gun on me. But part of me doesn't think it'd matter. Part of me knows that this can't go on, this... whatever it was. Not now. Whatever happened, I killed his father.

 

"He died just before I lost my squadron."

 

Sebastian comments, almost offhand. I close my eyes for a moment, and force myself to answer. My answer sounds staged. Insincere.

 

I don't know what else to say.  
  
"That must have been very hard."

 

He just laughs once, short and hard. It's bitter. 'You can say that again', it seems to mean. 

 

Sebastian starts the engine.

 

"...I really am sorry."

 

The words can't really mean anything, from my mouth. What can an apology do? Can it bring back Sebastian's Dad?

 

Sebastian pulls off the curb, and begins to drive in silence.  He doesn't say anything, and I bite my thumbnail, my heart heavy.

 

At least he knows, now. Isn't it better that he knows?

 

I risk a glance at him, but he won't look at me. I can no longer see that anger in the panes of his face, but his mouth is pressed into a flat line, a furrow between his brow. He doesn't look back at me.

 

I realise that we're heading for central London now. My voice is resigned. 

  
"Craig lives over towards -"  
  
"I'm not taking you back to Craig's."

 

I blink a few times, confused. I suddenly wonder if he's driving me straight to the police station. To make my confession, to close his father's case, to give his family justice after all this time.

 

I suppose I owe him that much. 

 

_Jim Moriarty's big break ends in a cell._

 

I wonder what Viana and Mansfield will make of it, if they find out. If they match my DNA with the great 'M', and broadcast the capture on every network.

 

"They won't let me stay in prison." I say quietly, resigned. It's true. We have a failsafe for those kinds of situations. I have operatives in most prisons in London. 

 

"I'm not taking you to prison."  Sebastian's tone is brusque. I frown, confused. But I don't want to push my luck.

 

I don't have anywhere else. Only Craig's. I think about trying to reason with Sebastian. He wasn't expecting to want rid of me, I know that. He wanted to stay with me, to sort things out. To ride to my rescue. He wasn't expecting to want me gone so soon.  He wasn't expecting my revelation. I try and give him a way out.

 

"I'm sure Craig won't-"

 

"You're not going back to Craig's." He says, voice clipped but calm. He still won't look at me. His words drop into a mutter. "I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy."

 

_Is that me, now? Am I your worst enemy?_

I don't say anything, but the thought is a pain in my chest. I look out of the window, until we're through the traffic, until I've gotten used to that silence between us, somehow now more distant than before. Resignation settles, cold in my chest. My throat feels thick.

 

We pull up outside the Southbank block of apartments, and I turn to look at  Sebastian confusedly, opening my mouth to speak. 

 

"You can stay here." He says bluntly, not looking at me. "I'll stay with my mum."  
  
"But -"  
  
"You've got nowhere else to go." The words are almost sharp, and I fall silent, Sebastian just pursing his lips flat, knuckles gripping the steering wheel. It's the first chink in his armour - the first reveal of that hurt, that anger below the surface. Shame burns in my cheeks again. He's right. Of course, he's right. 

 

"I have money." I say, my voice little more than a mumble. "I'll get a hotel. I don't want you to have to -"  
  
"I'll commute."  Sebastian says flatly, and then presses a button, my door unlocking with a click. The sound is loud and immistakeable - expectant. My cue to go. 

 

But I'm uneasy about this situation; about staying here. It doesn't feel right; still being close,  having any kind of involvement in his life, staying in his flat for God's sake... exploiting his kindness. But I'm in no position to refuse his generosity. Especially given what he's already saved me from today - relationship shattered, or not. 

 

I wonder if he'd known, whether he would have let Craig just take me. 

 

Silently, I take my bag and climb out of the car, and Sebastian lets the electric window come down, tosses a set of keys at me. I catch them in one hand, and my eyes find his, for the first time since I told him what I am. Who I am.

 

M. 

 

I'm M. 

 

The emotion that I see there is so conflicted, so mixed up in hurt and anger and something else that I can't hold his gaze for long.

 

There's something else to be said. Something else I need to say, but I can't find the words.  Another apology, another goodbye - maybe... maybe forever this time. I'm not going back to the film. I won't put him through having to see me every day. 

 

And I won't stay at the flat, I'll decide. Maybe for one night, and then leave without a trace. Save Sebastian all that pain.

 

I don't need reputation. International fame.

 

Right now, I'd give anything to be unknown again. For him never to have met me. 

 

The car idles for long enough to give us both time to speak, but in the end, there's nothing left to say.

 

Finally, Sebastian just pulls away from the curb, and drives away. I stand in front of the building, clutching my bag to my chest, until the car has disappeared around the corner. I feel empty, somehow. Hollowed out, like there's nothing left over inside me. I've given him all that I am, because he deserved to know. His father. His heart. His film. Maybe still his reputation, if Craig goes ahead.  I've taken all of that away.

 

_I don't deserve any sympathy._

 

 

\--

 

When the lift opens on the penthouse floor,  I'm struck by how large and empty it is up here, how bare somehow without Sebastian. The impression is doubled when I let myself into the flat, the key crunching in the lock. It's deathly silent, the dusky sky outside the windows reflected in all the shining surfaces, the space appearing much lonelier somehow, all that glass and chrome giving the effect of... emptiness.

 

That's how I feel, I think, as I set my solitary bag down by the door, and close it behind me. An empty space. 

 

As anonymous as I was as a toddler, delivered to the children's home. 

 

I walk around slowly, arms around my chest as I look around, finding evidence of Sebastian's life here. A hoodie, draped over the back of the sofa. Half a can of baked beans sits, covered with cling film in the fridge. A pint of milk is miraculously, still in date. A loaf of bread, two days out, sits on the side - along with our coffee mugs from the other morning.

 

How long ago that seems, now. Before our night together, before I felt blissfully at home with Sebastian. Before it came crashing down around my ears.  My head aches. My body aches. I rest my hands against the kitchen counter, and let my head hang down, just closing my eyes. It seems I'm a magnet for injury, just lately. A magnet for bad luck, perhaps. I was so close to having perfection. Sebastian Moran. 

 

I close my eyes, shake my head. 

 

_It's done, now. It's over._

 

Behind me, in the living room, a lamp clicks on. The light illuminates the corner suddenly, and voice speaks from the darkness.  I jump, spin around.  
  
"Hello, M. How nice to finally meet you."

 

\--

 

_Viana._

I'd recognise that voice anywhere. 

 

I've talked to her often enough, guiding her through leading the empire by headset. She sits on the sofa, leaning back as though she belongs there, though her face isn't nearly as relaxed as her posture. Her dark eyes are alight, excited, and I blink at her in unhappy surprise, suddenly feeling incredibly conscious of my self. Of my slight frame, my youth, those big brown eyes that so often tricked misled clients into believing my innocence, in the old days. This is not the body I wanted, for M. This wasn't the one I was going to use, if ever they needed to meet him.

 

How did she find me? How does she know?

 

"Viana."  The word is a drawl from my lips, a shadow of my old commanding tone, forcedly resigned, and I straighten my back infintiesimally. I ache.

 

"You're much younger than I thought you'd be."

 

"Yes. Well."

 

It surprises me just how much my voice changes when I'm being him. I sound clipped, irritated, though inside I'm just tired. Deeply, deeply fucking tired. I was pulled out of a pit, today. Beaten senseless, amongst having my heart pulled to pieces. I don't need this right now; yet another danger.

 

_Get a grip._

 

"Mansfield not with you?" I ask nonchalantly, though I'm unsettled by her presence here, my heart thudding unsteadily. I'm disheveled, exhausted. They were never supposed to find me. I was always supposed to stay separate.

 

"He's on a job. It was his idea, though." Viana tilts her head at me, that smile coming back. She's so excited; so loyal. It's almost sweet. "You're planning something big."

 

I just raise an eyebrow at her. I don't want her here, in Sebastian's flat. None of my old life belongs anywhere near his. Not after what happened. Not after what I did. Viana goes on.   
  
"We traced you. Your email log-ins. The laptops you used weren't encrypted."  
  
"I see."  
  


"Don't be angry. Please. We needed to find you. Mansfield got intel that Burch -"

 

"Yes. He emailed."

 

A silence passes between us, and I turn back to the sink, filling a glass with water. I take a sip, facing away from her.  I can almost feel the excitement rolling off her. She thinks I left to pursue some gamechanging job. She's really got no clue. Neither of them do. 

 

"In future, when I use an open connection, it isn't an invitation for you to track me." I say, still facing the sink, tone clipped. 

 

It's laughable. I sound so much like I'm in charge, but my body is battered and broken. I feel empty inside, that glimmer of hope that Sebastian had brought to my life having been crushed to pieces when he drove off. Not that I can blame him. 

 

Viana is silent, solemn. "... I'm sorry, sir."

 

I nod, set that glass down empty, and then walk around the counter, as if I own the place. Come to think of it... she's probably assumed that I do. 

 

"How have things been?" I ask, reluctantly. Coolly. "In my absence?"

 

"..Bizarre." She admits, looking down at her hands after being chastened. "Mansfield and I have been running things, but the clients don't seem as confident with just us at the helm. Particularly me."

 

"I expect you're still proving those wrong that find reason to doubt you?" I say, eyebrow arched, and she gives me a wry smile.

 

"Of course. But negotiations still aren't my top skill. And you know Danny."  
  
"Still a hot head?" I assume, and she rolls her eyes with a grim smile of agreement. Mansfield never was good at holding his tongue. He'd rather cut off someone else's, and wave it in their face. Unnaturally brutal, and with a passion for smart crime. He was made for my employ. 

 

But I'm not their boss anymore. Not the one they knew. 

 

"... Did you come for a reason, Viana?" I ask her eventually, plucking fluff absentmindedly from the corner of Sebastian's sofa. "Or did your curiosity just get the better of you?"

 

Her guilty expression gives me my answer. I'm just pleased I was able to put all my clothes back on in the car. Even if I only took off jacket I wear, she'd be able to see the bruises. The fresh ones. The old ones. 

_And why would they want to work for you, then?_

_Why would anyone want anything to do with you?_

_Weak. Pathetic._

 

"It's ready for you." She tells me, and suddenly there's a steely glint in her eye, the one I've come to recognise. This is the criminal Viana talking, not the excitedly loyal puppy. "Whenever you want it back. It's there."

 

I don't tell her that I did leave for a reason. Just not for the reason she's hoping. I nod, once. In thanks. 

 

She stands. Takes a few steps closer, and hands me a mobile phone. 

 

It's sleek, black. The model I used to have. But it isn't the same one. Craig threw that one in the Thames, accusing me of texting my 'lovers'. It had preceded a beating.   
  
"In case you need us." Viana says, and that determination is back in her gaze. "We'll be there."

 

I just arch an eyebrow, as if questioning how I could ever need them. It's part of the Moriarty package. Pretend to be invincible. I hope she doesn't look too closely at my battered body. 

 

She nods again at that, seemingly shyly, and then heads for the door. I turn the mobile, cold and ominous in my hands. 

 

_I could have called you both a thousand times, when I was with Craig._

_I know both of your numbers by heart. I was never too far from a phone._

_But I think I'd rather have died._

 

"Viana," I drawl, calling after her. I don't look up, eyes nonchalantly on that phone.  
  
"Yes, boss?"  
  
"Don't come here again."

 

\--

 

I watch out of the window as Viana walks back to a sleek black car and climbs into the back, the driver pulling away as soon as she's inside. What would she make of me, I wonder, if she knew that her boss had allowed himself to be repeatedly beaten by a man he'd trusted to help him? If she knew that he'd fallen in love with an actor, or even if she'd known that he'd tried to give it all up for a  fickle shot at fame?

 

I close my eyes, and rest my forehead momentarily on the cold glass. 

_It's over, now. One night, and then you go._

 

I head over to the sofa, curl up into a ball, and go to sleep.

 

\--

 

A knock on the door jolts me awake. 

 

I sit bolt upright, groggy, body aching at the sudden movement. I'm sitting in the pitch black, the only light coming from the flickering lights of that beautiful city view. I must have been asleep for hours. I run a hand over my face, through my hair, and then sit with my head in my hands for a moment, the fuzzy memories of the day coming back to me.

 

Running hard through the rain with Rex. Being hoisted out of the pit. Craig beating me, and the humiliating strip down to get into his car. Sebastian's fists, crunching wetly as they connect with Craig's face. The shock settling on Sebastian's face. Sebastian driving away. Viana, still as loyal and ambitious as ever - finally seeing my face. I'm exhausted.

 

Another knock on the door. 

 

Blearily, cautiously, I stand, and wince suddenly, a grunt escaping under my breath at the pain. I've slept funny, and somehow the injuries that I've amassed ache more than when I laid down my head. I hobble to the door, and hesitate for a long moment before I open it.

 

_It could be Craig. It could be Burch._

_It could be Sebastian._

 

I open the door slowly, inch by inch - and frown, confused when I see who stands there.

 

His tongue lolling, Rex barks in greeting, happy to see me.

 

Elaine watches me, her expression unreadable. 

 

I blink in my surprise a few times, and then at last - step aside to let them in.

 

\--

 

Elaine sits on her son's sofa, drinking a mug of black coffee. Rex pads around the place, inspecting it happily. She hasn't said a word to me since she arrived - only nodded at my offer at a drink, and shaken her head at the question of milk and sugar.

 

I sit across from her, the lights now on, though I'm sure I must look a state. I still feel exhausted, and my joints are stiff. I've got the heating on, but I wear Sebastian's hoodie around my shoulders, and the realisation makes my chest ache. How sad it must be, to get comfort from the clothes of a man I can't have. I'm suddenly glad that Viana didn't see me this way. 

 

"Sebastian wants Rex to stay with you for a week."  Elaine says eventually, the words filling that silence at last. 

 

"...Oh?"

 

"He says you're going to be on your own. That you might need the company. And the protection."

 

Even with what I've told him, he's still thinking about keeping me safe. Even though he can't bear to be near me himself. My eyes find Rex, who turns a few times on the carpet, and then settles down at Elaine's feet. 

 

"I can't take him from you, Elaine."

 

"I have my son." She says simply. Her eyes find mine; that same x-raying blue that Sebastian possesses. I have to drop my gaze.

 

 _Does she know?_  I think.  _That I killed her husband?_

 

"Where is he?" I ask quietly. She must have driven an hour and a half to get here. She knows something, at least. Maybe that we've... ended whatever was between us.

 

"At home."

 

I nod, wrap my arms around my chest. Elaine takes a drink from her mug. It doesn't seem like only this morning we were in the exact same position. I bow my head in shame, eyes on the floor. My gaze swims, and it's a moment before I realise that they're hot, that I'm close to tears. It's mortifying, and anger surges in my chest at myself. Moriarty sneers at me. Everything that's happened today, and I'm choosing now to let my self-respect desert me. 

 

A warm hand finds my shoulder and squeezes, and I'm shaking my head, mortified, pulling away from Elaine and pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. 

 

"Sorry. I'm sorry."  I mumble, trying to pull myself together. The hand on my shoulder holds fast. 

 

"...You must be in a lot of pain."  She says quietly, and I just look down at my lap, not saying anything, my mouth turned tight down at the corners. 

 

_Is the baby going to cry? You're pathetic._

 

"Come on. Let me see you."

 

\--

 

I stand in the bathroom in my underwear, hands on the sink as Elaine prods at my bruises, changing the bandages on my ribs and tending to any new cuts. I'm black and blue again, with yellow behind it - the consequences of my fall into the pit, and Craig's new onslaught. It reminds me of that day on set. Geraldine, patching me up. Or later; Chelsea and Bev covering me with clay. This is worse, somehow. So much worse. 

 

Elaine has every right to drive a knife through my ribs. She shouldn't be bandaging them.

 

She's quiet, no doubt knowing that I've hurt her son. Though she can't possibly know why. 

 

When she's finished, she guides me wordlessly through the apartment, and to Sebastian's bed. She helps me settle down into the pillows, and disappears - returning a few minutes later with a hot water bottle. Rex jumps up onto the bed, curls up next to me on the other side. Sebastian's side. 

 

"You shouldn't be here." I tell Elaine, quietly. A little overcome. I've never been looked after like this. I don't deserve it. "You need to be with him."

 

"I'll be back with him in an hour. I had to drive here with Rex."

 

"I can't keep him, Elaine."  
  
"It's just for a week."  
  
"I -"  
  
"Sebastian insists."

 

I purse my lips unhappily. Look down at the bed. I wonder if she came here to say anything more. Whether she originally intended on scolding me for breaking his heart, and then changed her plans when she saw the state I was in.

 

She shouldn't be looking after me.

 

I've broken her family to pieces. I'm a monster. 

 

"I've left his food bowl in the kitchen, and his basket in the living room."  
  
"...Don't you miss him?" I ask, soft. 

 

"Every day." She says back flatly, and then suddenly I see it in her eyes. They're sharp on mine. 

 

_She knows. We're not talking about the dog._

 

The understanding is gone just as quickly as it was there, and then Elaine stands, putting her bag onto her shoulder. She ruffles Rex' ears. 

 

"It's only for a week and I have Sebastian with me, so I don't mind. Get well soon, Jim."

 

I watch her, that hot water bottle warm by my side, struck dumb by that sudden realisation. My mouth is dry. I missed whatever she just said, mind whirring.

 

Elaine heads for the door, and I reach out a hand aimlessly, as if it might stop her, pull her back, make her explain. She doesn't even turn around. 

 

"... I knew he was working for Burch."  

 

The words are quiet, clipped. But there's something softer behind them. She has a hand on the doorknob, not looking at me.

 

"It wasn't your fault."

 

And then she's gone, leaving me with a sleeping Alsatian, and an ache in my chest. 

 

\--

 


	23. The Week

**\--- ONE WEEK LATER ---**

 

"I'll go to two fifty, and no higher."

 

"... Sir, all due respect, but he wants at least four hundred -"  
  
"Then he can sell them somewhere else, can't he, Mansfield?"  
  


"...Yes sir." A long silence on the line. Then an audible crackle, and a disbelieving; "I don't fucking... - He's accepted two fifty!"  
  
I smile, roll my eyes, and lean back in my chair, holding the phone flat in my fingers for a moment.

 

"He said he was 'desperate' to do business with me. That was my first clue."  
  
"Jesus, sir..."

 

I stretch where I sit.  "Keep me posted, alright? Make the deal."  
  


"Yes, sir."

 

I end the call, and set the phone down with a clatter. Rex is splayed out on the floor by my feet, fast asleep, and I bend down and give his belly a scratch, the dog twitching happily in his sleep. I get up, pad through the apartment in my jogging bottoms and one of Sebastian's t shirts, stolen from the drawer while mine are being washed. The smell of him still brings me a kind of peace, a guilty warmth. 

 

I haven't heard from him in a week. It could be years.

 

In actuality; it's only seven days. One hundred and sixty eight hours. But in that time, I mourn the times that we could have had together. The new scenes, the teasing exchanges in the green room. The drinks at McGann's, the breakfasts at Grace's. I miss him. I miss him fucking terribly, and Elaine's visit didn't help in the slightest. I appreciated her care... her gentle hands, her putting me to bed like a child. I've convinced myself that I dreamed those words. Hallucinated them perhaps, my concussed head a mess after everything that happened that day. 

 

_It's not your fault._

 

Would Sebastian have told her everything about me?

 

Why wouldn't she have gone to the police? To save her husband's reputation?

 

Would she have told Sebastian about Burch? About who his father really worked for?  I suppose it doesn't really matter. Whoever he was, he was Sebastian's father, and his life ended because of me.

 

I don't know how I've ended up staying here for a week. My original plan was just the one night, but then I woke up in the morning with Rex still curled up by my side, and suddenly, I couldn't bear to leave. I try not to think of Sebastian as much as possible, but it's as though my subconscious likes nothing better than to dwell on him, his perfect face, that protective nature and that lopsided grin. No matter how much it hurts me. His photographs still sit around the apartment. The one of his parents, his smiling father, dead at my hand. I find more, the longer I'm here. Sebastian as a toothless child, blonde and swamped by a football t shirt, standing side by side with his father. A teenage Sebastian, smiling in that army uniform, younger, less muscled. Almost skinny. 

 

I look at them every day.

 

Rex is a godsend, really, and of course I only have one person to thank for that. He's been reminding me to eat, nudging me where I sit or lay, until I get up and fill his own bowl, and make something for myself. And his walks, on the park across the road, have been keeping me mobile. I've taken to wearing that hoodie, and a pair of Sebastian's sunglasses. The paparazzi have descended as I was told they would, though of course, this morose, terrible week is the one they chose to begin. If I'm unlucky, and they spot me, Rex and I have to go a completely different route - all the way around the back of the park, before we can head home.

 

Home, I repeat, in my head. This isn't my home. I'm on borrowed time. Living on pity.

 

On my fourth day of being alone, I gave in and  checked my emails, and began to reply. Day five, I answered a call from Viana - and then it began, a deluge of them, pushing me right back to where I started. I'm the boss on the end of the phone, I'm M, authorising my deals, my voice attending meetings with my two executives.  But I haven't given any orders to kill. And I don't plan on it. Not now. Not now I've seen the fall out.

 

I owe it to Sebastian. 

 

I sit in my pajamas for most of the day. I change to go to the shops, to walk Rex, but the moment I return, I'm back in them again, and hiding away from the world. I was right, last week. When he drove away from me, I lost a part of myself. I still feel that emptiness as keenly. Viana is seeing someone. She made an offhand comment on the line, Mansfield teasing her - and I hung up the phone, petty and bitter, unable to cope with even an ounce of someone else's happiness, when my own chest is cracked wide, my hollow loneliness there for the world to see.

 

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. Thinking about that crooked smile, those blue eyes. Those hands on my body, gentle and warm, soft yet roughskinned. His lips on mine. I lay awake at night, going through the torment, cycling through it all in my mind, trying to decide what I should have done better, what I shouldn't have done at all, what I'd do all over again if I had the chance. It agonises me, keeps me awake - and I find myself finally falling to sleep at five or six in the morning, only to be wake again at ten, to start my day. 

 

Walk Rex. Take calls. Eat something. 

 

How did this happen, to me? I'd never loved, not even as a teenager, not even caught up in the haze of lust and hormones. Even then, I'd been smart enough not to fall into that trap. Certainly not with Craig, who I learned to deplore more and more with each smack of his fists, each ugly word from his mouth. And now a man, a man that I've known for two weeks no less, has reduced me to a husk of myself. If Moriarty wasn't too busy getting his hands dirty in the business again, he'd scoff at me for my sentimentality. My foolishness. 

 

 _He just made me feel at home_.

 

Every day, I browse the internet for stories about the film, about Sebastian. It's become a routine.

 

I make myself a cup of tea, leaving the bag in the boiling water and carrying the mug back over to the sofa, where I open Sebastian's laptop. I know this can't last forever. I have no illusions that the penthouse is beginning to feel like home, and that's a dangerous place to be. I'm clinging on to staying here; to staying connected somehow. The idea of leaving this place, of letting Rex go back home, of going... Where can I go?

 

Back to a hotel, where I lived before Craig?

 

Back to Craig? I've considered it. Each time, I rule it out, concerned only with how disgusted I know Sebastian will be, how angry, when he's given me Rex for the sole reason of keeping me safe... When he's allowed me to stay in luxury, at an inconvenience to himself, to keep me safe. After all I've done... I still owe him it all.

 

No. I can't go back to Craig. Not this time.

 

I open up the search page, and type my search; the same as always. It's highlighted in a different colour, to show me that I've searched for it before. SEBASTIAN MORAN. Usually, there's a new result per day. Never usually anything exciting. Sebastian Moran spotted out in Winter trend coat. Sebastian Moran grabs coffee with actress Lisa Kay. Maybe a line or two on the new film, on the surrounding buzz.

 

Today, there are two new pages worth of results, and I almost choke on my tea, spluttering on the boiling water. Anxious, I slide the cup onto the coffee table, and sucking on my burned lip, quickly click on the first story, which seems to summarise the rest. 

 

SEBASTIAN MORAN STARS IN PORN VIDEO?

 

_Shit. Craig, you bastard. Shit._

 

'A popular pornographic website has released reports of having received a video of actor Sebastian Moran engaging in sexual acts with an unnamed partner. The website claimed that they can't show the videos until the rights have been attained from Moran's management team, of which they are endeavouring to acquire. Moran's spokesperson had this to say; 'Sebastian has never knowingly engaged in pornographic content, and any content that surfaces to the contrary is an invasion of his privacy and his human rights. If such a video were to surface, Mr Moran would be taking any parties that chose to distribute the video directly to court for an indiscriminate sum, and the ultimate party responsible would be sued for libel'. Sebastian himself, interviewed en route to filming for a new Edwardian drama, had this to say to our reporter; 'I think it's a stupid story. No, I've never done it. No, of course it's not me'.

 

I click through a few of the different stories, but they all have the same quotes, the same stock answers. I know Sebastian will be taking his agent's advice on this one; no matter what he might have said to me about not caring. And to be honest, the threat of court might just be enough to put Craig off completely. It'd ruin his career. 

 

The pictures they use in all of them are from the same day - Sebastian this week, with Lisa, on a coffee break from set. He looks tired under his make-up, and I feel a pang in my chest, missing him, missing it all. I miss being at the set. I miss the filming.

 

_You can't go back. Not now._

 

Rex pads over to me, stretching and yawning, shaking off his fur. He rests his head on my knee, and I smile at him a little sadly. 

 

"I can't go back." I tell him quietly. "It's not fair. It's not fair on him. Why should he have to see me every day?"

 

I'll go back to the crime. I'll move out of here, send Rex home, pretend this whole thing never happened. Everything with Craig. The whole film. I'll remove it from my history, like one of my searches on Sebastian's laptop. It was always a foolish idea. Clean living. Reputation without cost.

 

I was never supposed to live past thirty five. And with this ache in my chest, it'll be a welcome relief. I had a taste of the good life. Love. Home. I'm empty now, without it.

 

_If Burch gets his way, you won't make it to your next birthday._

The sooner, the better.

 

"Shall we go for a walk, Rex? Walkies?"

 

\--

 

"Jim! James!"

"This way, James!"

"Mr Moriarty!"  
"Jim, when are you back on set?"  
"Have you heard the rumours about your co-star's video? About Sebastian Moran's video, Jim?"  
"This way, Jim. Give us a smile!"

"We've heard you might have dropped out of the production, James - is that true?"

 

I force my way through the crowd, pushing cameras away, Rex growling and barking at any men that don't move away quickly enough. I break into a jog at the end of the path, and Rex is used to this, beginning to run alongside me as we take the longer route to the park - through the back alley and the side streets, where they won't be able to follow us in their cars. It's become another routine of ours, these walks. We can be out for hours sometimes, just exploring this part of the city. Walking up and down the south bank.  Today, I walk past a sign, advertising a new display at one of the museums. Post world war two memorabilia. Military. 

 

Sebastian would like that, I think absentmindedly, before the ache returns, and I pull Rex past the sign.

 

This may be my last day with the dog, I think glumly as we walk around the park, Rex dragging me along as always, inquisitive and eager. Elaine said I had him for the week. For my time at the flat. I've built a little life for myself here; a kind of... ramshackle existence. Running the dregs of my business by phone, holed up in somebody else's flat, with somebody else's dog. I always knew I'd have to leave, but as I hug Sebastian's hoodie closer to my chest, and head for the trees, Rex' favourite bit... I know that I don't want to go. Sebastian is home, and even the shadow of his presence is better than nothing. 

 

\--

 

When we finally make it back, I'm holding a carrier bag of cleaning supplies from the local supermarket. I want to wipe my existence from the flat. I don't want Sebastian to find his home tainted by me... Tainted by the man that pulled his family apart. I'd had to rush into the shop and back out again, hating leaving Rex tied outside, though he's very good - the idea of anything happening to him while he's in my care is awful.

 

The paparazzi are still outside the lobby when I arrive back, and I sigh, preparing myself to push through the throng again. They're already going mad - shouting and jostling, and I frown, trying to get closer. Is someone here?

 

_Is it him?_

They part to let me through, my heart beginning to thud - and I feel guilty when it sinks a little, the sight of Geraldine, haughty as she waits by the doors. Rex approaches her cautiously, and I reach down and rub behind his ears, soothing. The din goes on around us, the photographers crowding around us, and I stop in front of her with a frown, knowing why she's here.  
  
"Well." She says, raising her eyebrows. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

 

\--

 

Geraldine walks around the apartment slowly, her elegantly heeled shoes clicking on the wooden floors. She holds a small glass of wine, having refused tea, coffee and soft drinks. I had to hunt for it in Sebastian's cupboards, and have helped myself to a glass too, so not to waste the bottle. It's barely two in the afternoon. 

 

Rex settles down on the rug in front of the window, muzzle resting on one of his toys. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I've bought him two or three. I'm far too attached. 

 

It's my last day here, our last day together, I remember with a pang. Tomorrow, no doubt, Sebastian will reclaim his space. 

 

"So." She says, and takes a sip of the wine, swilling it around her glass. "I assume you're better now, are you?"

 

The words are clipped. I smile. I've missed Geraldine. 

 

"Much better." I agree. 

 

"The word is that you fell down a well."

 

I have to laugh at that. I look into my glass.   
  
"It was a construction pit. Yes, I did."

 

She nods, walks over to the sofa. I hurry to clear the blankets and laptop, having been... well. Living there, more or less. 

 

"Sorry. Been recovering."

 

"I see." Geraldine says, but purses her lips together, and I fix my eyes on Rex for something to do, the dog sleeping soundly now. "So I assume you'll be back on set, tomorrow?"

 

I'm not sure how to answer that one, so I take a sip of my wine, and then another, shifting my gaze to the skyline. Geraldine watches me. 

 

How can I tell her that I'm just giving up on the film? I can't tell her that I don't like it. That I've lost interest. She knows that isn't true. I had the best time of my life, working on those scenes with Sebastian. With her too, and Lisa and Donald. She won't believe it for a second. 

 

"...I think I might... need a few more days." 

 

If I try for more time, I can make sure I don't have to face anyone when I cancel altogether. I can't even imagine what Honsson will say.

 

"Right." Geraldine says, and then tilts her head at me, blunt. "And what's the real reason?"  
  
I blink at her, trying not to betray my guilt. "...I'm sorry?"  
  
"The real reason, James."  She sets down the wine glass, and folds slender arms over her chest. I frown. 

 

"I just-"

 

"Is it the abusive boyfriend, or your fall out with Sebastian?"

 

I'm silent at that, struck dumb.

 

"Oh, come on." Geraldine sighs. "I saw those bruises. I'm sixty eight years old. A long time ago, it was perfectly normal for a man to raise his hand to a woman. I'm an actress. Inaccessible. A lot of them don't like that."

 

"...Not getting what they want." I finish, and she smiles, though it's wry. Humourless.

 

"So it's him, then? You don't want to see him on set."

 

I shake my head.

 

"...He's harmless. Cares too much about what people think to touch me in public."

 

I'm quiet, fiddling with the sleeve of Sebastian's hoodie.

 

"He came to set on Tuesday with bruises all over his face. Do I need to guess whose handiwork that was?"

 

A shadow of a smile finds its way onto my lips. Sebastian's. 

 

"...  I had no idea you knew about that." I sigh after a while, annoyed at the pity. Though if she's gone through it herself...

 

"Well. You made a valiant effort to hide it." She reaches for her wine glass, takes another sip. She leans back where she sits. "...So why, then?"  
  
"What?"

 

"Why won't you come back to set? I assume you haven't told Honsson, yet?"

 

"No. I was hoping to just..." I wave a hand, pathetically. Hopelessly. "...Disappear."

 

Geraldine's disapproval visibly deepens. She takes a longer drink, and I stand, retrieve the wine bottle and set it down on the table between us. Her smile deepens, and she pours us both another glass. She clinks her glass with mine, and then takes a long drink, and so do I.  Rex gets up, pads over to me and waits until I rub behind his ears. Then he lays down at my feet, stretching out to sleep.

 

"So; career suicide from an actor on his first job. How does that happen?"

 

I just smile a little sadly, take another drink of that wine.  "...It's complicated."  
  
"It's Sebastian Moran, then."

 

I don't say anything at that. If we're going to get into this, then we'll need a lot more wine. But Geraldine waits. And waits, and waits. And when I look up, there's a smug little smile on her lips that tells me she's not going anywhere. That she'll wait for as long as it takes for me to tell her why I'm going to ruin this film for everyone involved.

 

I sigh, and she sips at her wine, triumphant.

 

"He tried so fucking hard to win me over." I say, my voice annoyed, but resigned. "Craig... this stupid.. video thing.."  
  
"I heard about that."  
  
"He took me to breakfast. For drinks. I met his mum, for God's sake. We..." I tail off. Geraldine doesn't need to know what we did in Sebastian's childhood bedroom. But she smiles knowingly, and I look away.  "But it's over. Finished, now." 

 

 Geraldine doesn't prompt me for more, but I know she'll want to know why.  Why, after all that, it's broken beyond repair. Why it keeps me from working with him, from being close to him in any way. 

 

"I hurt him. Very badly. And that's that."

 

I drain the rest of my glass, and Geraldine joins me, before taking the empty glass from my hand and setting it down with hers on the table. She takes my hands, and her grasp is bony, with an iron grip.

 

"Now you listen to me." She begins, low and reasoning - but there's a threat behind those earnest words. Her eyes are serious on mine. "I don't know what's gone on with you boys, but I do know that everyone on that damned set has been talking about how magical you are together, and I'm not going to let you ruin it over something daft."

 

I just sigh, shake my head. She can't understand. We come from different worlds. Sebastian has had a lucky escape. 

 

"Geraldine -"  
  
"No. You don't realise just how good you are, James. Both of you, together."  
  
"Sebastian -"  
  
"You're big boys." She frees my hands at last. "You can cope with a little awkwardness. It's called professionalism. Do you know how many of my leading men that I couldn't stand?"

 

I just give her a look, and she leans in, and clasps my shoulders with her hands. 

 

"I mean it. Take heed of this, because I don't give praise lightly. This is a story that needs to be told, and you are a wonderful David. I feel the pain that you put him in. His anguish." 

 

She releases me, and then stands up carefully, her bag back on her shoulder. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I look up at her, frowning. 

 

"Don't give it all away for a lover's tiff, James. You have a bright future."

 

"... I hurt him." I say quietly. "I hurt him badly."

 

"We all hurt the ones we love. We don't mean to do it." She looks at me meaningfully, eyeing those yellowing bruises on my collarbone. "It's knowing when to stick through it, or walk away. And you, sweetheart, need to stick through it." A pause, and she purses her lips. "I've worked with Sebastian a few times, and I've never seen him look so happy."  She laughs, short and sharp. "I suppose this explains why he looks like hell, this week."

 

"...You've seen him?" I say, standing too after a moment, collecting those empty glasses. There's a glimmer of hope in my voice. 

 

Geraldine purses her lips. 

 

"Make-up gave him hell. They don't think he's been sleeping."

 

Guilt lashes at my chest, and I turn away - but Geraldine catches me, her hand on my cheek. Motherly. 

 

"Think of all the people it will  _help_ , James. Educate. People will talk about this for years. Think of our crew, out filming every day. They need you. We all need you."

 

I find her gaze, torn. She doesn't know how much I want to go back. Jesus, I want it so badly. 

 

"Fix it." She urges. "Or move on. But for God's sake, don't walk away from this project."

 

And then she kisses me on the cheek, elegant and chaste, and leaves, heels tapping on the wood.

 

\--

 

An hour later, and I'm still torn, head in my hands as I sit on the sofa, Rex snuffling away at his dinner bowl in the kitchen. 

 

Of course I want to go back on set. Of course I want to see everyone again - the whole team, and all the crew.

 

Of course I want to see Sebastian. But it's just not -

_When have you ever cared about being fair?_

_Is it fair to let his film fail? To make these people waste months of their lives filming something amazing that never makes it to the screen?_

_Is it fair to go back to the very life that you tried to escape? The life that killed his father?_

_After all he's done for you?_

"Fuck."

 

I say aloud, the word a whine as I fall back onto the sofa, and close my eyes. 

 

I'm going.

 

\--

 


	24. The Return

When I wake up in the morning, I have to force myself not to think about it. If I overthink it, then I'll talk myself out of it, and then I'll never go. 

 

I'm distracting myself, thinking of countless stupid other things as I get out of bed, Rex rolling around in his eagerness to follow me, padding along beside me as I head to the bathroom. He sits outside the door as I shower, and then we eat breakfast together - he at his bowl, and me at the table with mine. 

 

I read the script, my scenes for today from the original schedule, but it's guesswork. They might have changed everything around in my absence, and I just have to read what I can, trust that I'll be able to pick it up when I get there. I get dressed quickly, jeans and a t shirt - but have to remind myself to take Sebastian's hoodie off before I leave. That could be embarrassing. 

 

I have to take Rex with me; his bed and bowls, his toys. It makes my chest ache, but Sebastian has already given me a week of company, and if I'm filming all day, it's not fair for him to be alone. He could be with Elaine, instead.

 

"Come on, Rex. Good boy."

 

We head into the lift together. I leave my things where they are for now; though my bag is packed. If he wants me out tonight, I'm ready to leave. 

 

_I'm ready to let go._

_One last chance at the film. But then that's that._

 

\--

 

When my car pulls up, my driver manages to keep back the paparazzi as Rex and I run to the vehicle and climb in, the dog bounding onto the seats and curling up there. The moment the door closes, the cameras are thrust at the windows, clicking and clattering on the glass, the flashes going off as I shield my eyes. The driver pulls away quickly, and I curse under my breath, suddenly uneasy about this 'international reputation' bit. I'd assumed that'd be the easier part of the job... Perhaps even a perk.

 

I've barely settled back before my phone's ringing, and I answer it with a frown, though am pleased for the distraction to quell my nerves.  
  
"Viana?"

 

"The contract in Mexico is ours. Just got confirmation."  
  
"... I thought they'd gone to Burch?"  
  
"So did we. Apparently he's flaking."

 

I frown, though this is good news. Still... Burch, too busy to make a deal? Last thing I heard, my old rival was looking for me. 

 

"Do we have any intel on him?"

 

"Mansfield's going to talk to some of his people, see if he can get anything out of them."  
  
"...'Talk'?"

 

"Yeah. 'Talk'."

 

"I see."  I almost feel sorry for those men.

  
"Are you available for negotiation calls? They're asking for two mil, but I know for a fact Burch was only paying one point six."

 

".... No. Not today."  I stroke a hand down Rex' fur. "...I trust you to handle it, Viana."  
  
"... But I'm not good at -"  
  
"You're better than you think." I sigh.  "If you're really uncomfortable, give a wire to one of the men, send him in for you and talk him through it."  
  
"...That's not a bad idea."

 

"Keep me informed." I say, and go to end the call, Viana signing off with a cheery;  
  
"Hope it goes well!"

 

I freeze, frowning. My finger pauses on the button, and I lift the phone back to my ear.

 

"... What did you say?"

 

My tone must be dangerous, because Viana falters for a moment. "...I... I didn't.. just meant...-"  
  
I grit my teeth, close my eyes. 

 

"...How long have you known?"

 

Viana's reply is sheepish and quiet. Apologetic. "...Since we traced the laptop IP addresses. We... followed you for a little bit."

 

_How much have they seen, I wonder? Do they know that I was with Sebastian?_

_Do they know that I let myself get beaten to a pulp?_

 

"...If it helps, sir, I think you'll be really good in it."

 

I close my eyes, sigh through my teeth. Nothing I can do now, is there?

 

As far as I can tell, it's just the film they know about. Perhaps they've even seen my face in the magazines.

 

It unsettles me a little, being M without the anonymity. Even from behind a phone. Even if I tell myself that I'll stop the calls any day now.

 

I turn the sleek new handset in my hand, and end the conversation with a flat;

 

"Thank you, Viana."

 

\--

 

By the time we've arrived at the Essex set, the nerves that I was so careful to avoid this morning, have hit me in full force. We're parked next to the warehouse, and it's so familiar, so close, even the same crew members running around in their fleeces, carrying coffees and set pieces. The driver waits patiently, and soon, I muster the courage to climb out of the car, Rex jumping out after me, and I take his basket and things with me, struggling a touch with the load. 

 

Soon, a runner heads over to help.   
  
"Thanks." I say, and the runner smiles, takes the dog's things. I keep Rex close to me. "Where's Sebastian? Moran?"

 

The green room, the runner tells me, and we head in that direction with Rex - heading inside the warehouse, feeling like I stick out like a sore thumb. I can feel eyes on me, following me around - perhaps looking for evidence of my fall into the pit, waiting for me to keel over at any second. Or perhaps they're relieved; perhaps they've all taken heed of that rumour in the press about me quitting. Little do any of them know, it's a miracle that I'm here right now.

 

My heart thuds as we approach the green room, a tightening in my chest in anticipation of seeing Sebastian again. Rex trots along beside me, the runner still holding all his things, and I wonder what I'll see in those eyes when they find me.... Disgust? Anger? Resentment?

 

There's a roaring in my ears as we push through the door to the green room, but Sebastian isn't inside, and something both relieved and disappointed sinks down into my stomach.  
  
"Oh." The runner says. "He must have gone to his trailer."  
  
"No," Says a voice, "He's in costume. They're showing him something."

 

Rex goes crazy at the voice, and begins to bark and squeal, squirming against his lead. I let him off, and he dashes straight to Elaine, who bends down laughing to cuddle and stroke him. I'm surprised the dog doesn't knock her over, but I'm smiling, standing a little sheepishly as she pets the dog, nodding at the runner when he sets down the things and runs out. Alex, the bodyguard has resumed his place outside the door, and glances in at us before it swings shut. I can't believe it, but I've even missed him. 

 

"... I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." Elaine explains at last as she straightens, Rex still bounding around happily at her feet, almost a puppy again. She smooths down the front of her jumper. "Sebastian said to come and see some filming. And I thought you might be bringing Rex in."

 

I nod, a little awkward. What is there to say? I know that she knows. I know that she doesn't think it's my fault. But I can't help but keep my eyes on the ground in shame, avoiding her gaze.   
  
"Thank you." I say at last. "For letting me have him. He's been..."  I shake my head, unable to describe it.   
  
"Getting you up for walks?" She muses. "...Making sure you eat?"

 

"Yeah." I laugh, quiet, still averting my eyes. "He's been looking after me."

 

Elaine scratches behind Rex' ears fondly, and then says quietly, honestly; "...Good."

 

The door opens, and Lisa walks in - before exclaiming when she sees me, and pulling me hard into her arms.  
  
"Oh my God! You're back!"  
  
"...I am."

 

"Are you alright?"

 

"I'm fine." I assure her, "...Just needed a few days."  
  
"Of course, of course. Well... wow. I'm glad you're back. I think we've got one together today, so I'll see you in a bit. Sorry, I've got to run. Hello, boy!"  
  


She's hurried over to Rex, given him a scratch on the head, Rex' tail beating the floor happily. And then she's gone again, having grabbed a handful of crackers from the buffet cart. As soon as the door swings shut, there's a sudden silence; a quiet peace following that whirlwind entrance. Elaine smiles.

 

"Lisa seems nice."  
  
"She is. Donald's alright, when he's in a good mood. Geraldine's my favourite. She... actually came and got me. I was thinking of..." I tail off, ashamed. 

 

"Not on Sebastian's account, I hope?" Elaine asks, surprised and seemingly unhappy with this. I shrug, shadow of a rueful smile on my lips.   
  
"...Doesn't matter though, does it? I'm here. Couldn't keep away."  
  
"It gets in your blood." Elaine agrees, and then after another beat of silence, walks over to me, and gives my arm a squeeze. I look up at her, and I remember her tucking me into bed, bruised and broken. I remember feeling like I was going to cry, not used to such care. Softly, gently, Elaine puts her arms around me in a tight hug. It seems to go on for a minute or so, and at last, I let myself relax. That tension seeps away in a breath, and I hug her back. I don't know what this is. But it's as though I can hear her saying it, though neither of us speak.  
  
It wasn't your fault.  
  
"...He's a tough cookie." She says at last when she pulls back, with a sad smile. "...But you made him happy. Don't give up on him."

 

She heads back to the sofa with Rex, and after trying to think of some kind, of any kind of reply... I give up, nod, and I leave the room.

 

\--

 

I go straight towards costume, not wanting to put this off any longer - but by the time I get there, Sebastian has gone again. I sigh in frustration, but then smile good naturedly as the costumiers greet me with hugs and a chocolate from a box on the desk. They hand me my costume, and I turn the tunic in my hands, having missed it. I head into the changing room to get dressed, and when I'm finished, go straight to make-up, where I'm expecting Sebastian will be.

 

When I burst into the pod, Chelsea and Bev squeal, Chelsea clapping her hands at the sight of me, but I roll my eyes at the empty seats.

 

"Let me guess. I just missed him?"

 

"You did." Geraldine says, having walked in after me. I turn, and her bony arms envelope me in a warm hug, before she holds me at arms length, triumph in her expression. "I knew you'd come back."  
  
"Well, you didn't give me much choice." I laugh, though I glance out of the pod as the door closes, still looking for him. 

 

"He's gone to his trailer, I think." Geraldine tells me, reading my mind. She takes her seat in front of the mirrors, and soon I join her in my own, the girls setting to work on us. "...If I were you, I'd let it happen when it happens. Don't chase him."

 

"I thought I should at least -"

 

"Just be professional."

 

I purse my lips, and then after a moment of thought, just nod in agreement. I'm not sure what I would have said to him, anyway. I sigh, close my eyes, settle back in my seat as Chelsea begins to powder my skin.   
  
"...And James?"

 

"..Mm?"  
  
"If you ever dare to try and ruin one of my films again, I will ruin  _you_."  Her tone is clipped, but offhand. 

 

I chuckle, opening one eye. I don't doubt it. Geraldine reaches over, and squeezes my hand with a smile.

 

\--

 

It doesn't take long before I'm buttoned into my costume, my hair styled and make-up on my face - again, serving no purpose but to make my skin appear brighter, less pale and sallow than it actually is.

 

At this point, I'm just pleased not to have any bruises. 

 

I head towards the set with Geraldine, and those butterflies have started up again - intensifying a little when I step past the lights and cameras, an elaborately decorated hallway in front of me - complete with a faux wooden staircase that Eleanor keeps calling to people not to stand on, or it'll collapse. This is the entrance hall of Chester's house - and with a sudden pang, I realise that Sebastian and I are going to have to act totally in love. I fiddle with the hem of my tunic, thinking of Geraldine's advice. Professionalism. Think of all the people counting on this film.  
  
"James!"  Honsson's booming voice is pleased, and he hooks an arm around my shoulders, guiding me onto the set. Sebastian isn't here yet. "How are we?"  
  
"...Yeah.. I'm feeling much better, thank you."  
  
"Good to hear it. Thought we were in big trouble there, for a minute. Craig been taking care of you?"

 

I miss a beat, confused. My eyes search the set, but I can't find him. Something tightens in my stomach, and I know it's uneasy fear. Moriarty sneers at me.

 

_Weak. Pathetic._

 

Has Craig been telling people that he's looking after me? That I'm staying with him? At least Eleanor must know that I'm not... the car came to the right place to collect me, this morning. 

 

"Yes." I say at last, a few seconds too late, and Honsson looks at me. 

 

"Not too lonely when he's been at set? Missing all the action?"  
  
I smile ruefully, and Honsson ruffles my styled hair, much to Bev's distress - who hurries on to correct it almost immediately. Honsson heads off, seemingly satisfied with my health, and takes his seat, clapping his hands for attention.  
  
"Places, people!"

 

I glance around for Elaine, but I bet she's not allowed on set with Rex. I wonder if she's watching a screen somewhere, and I'm craning my neck for her when I see Sebastian for the first time, stalking on set with a cardboard cup of coffee. He doesn't look at me, merely shrugs off the jacket that he wears over the costume, and presses the coffee into Eleanor's waiting hand. My heart begins to thud as I step onto the set, avoiding his eye, but it's as if I don't exist - even though I know he's registered my arrival. He takes his position by the wall, and I watch him with a frown, waiting just a moment too long for him to look up at me, to give some sort of greeting - even if it's just a ... nod, for goodness sake. 

 

What happened to professionalism?

 

"Jim?" Honsson prompts. "Places, please."

 

I jump at the call, embarrassed, and quickly head to the side of the set, standing behind the door that Sebastian will open for me. I lean against it, perturbed by Sebastian ignoring me. I don't deserve anything less after what I've done, of course I don't, but I thought... With the insisting that I stay at his place, and have his dog for protection... With his mother understanding... 

 

Honsson's already counting us down, and I quickly snatch a script and go over my lines, trying to put it all out of my head and concentrate on just this. My heart thuds, and I suddenly panic that I've forgotten how to act in the week that I've been out out of practice... The lights are up, my script is snatched out of my hands, and then Chester opens the door, a smile on his face, excited to see his lover.

 

And I say Chester - because it's most certainly Chester. There's no ounce of Sebastian left in those eyes. At least, I reason with myself, it's easy to fall into character. 

 

"We should not be doing this." David says, striding past Chester anxiously into the house. Chester grabs his hand as he passes.   
  
"My family are at the gala ball. When will we have this chance again?"

 

Chester kisses David's hand, and David melts, sighs reluctantly. He steps closer, and Chester leans in for a kiss -

 

_I can't._

 

\- But David ducks away, looking around the hall. 

 

"It's beautiful. These paintings must cost more than my home."

 

It takes Sebastian just a moment to adapt, and then he's walking with David, agreeing amusedly. I've only missed out the kiss. That's it. Honsson hasn't called cut yet, so he can't be too upset..

 

"It's pointless indulgence. What do any of us gain from pretty pictures on the wall?"

 

"Spoken like the true child of wealth." David muses wryly, stopping before a painting of Chester's parents together, Chester's faster adorned with medals. Chester stares up at him with scorn. 

 

"...You can't truly despise them so." David says gently, and rests a hand on Chester's forearm. 

 

"My father. He sees something unnatural in our love."

 

"But he doesn't know -"  
  
"Our kind of love. He agrees with the death sentence."

 

"Yes."  
  
"He advocates for it, David."

 

David takes a moment to remove his coat, silently hanging it on the stand in the corner. When he returns, Chester stands, still glaring at that painting. 

 

"...Chester?"

 

"I want to be with you. I want us to be together."

 

"We are. We are together."  
  
"You know what I mean."  A beat, and Chester looks back at his father's painted face. Resolute. "I'm going to tell him."  
  
"Chester, you're being -"  
  
"Why should I hide?" Chester turns to David, eyes blazing. He takes his hands. "Why should I hide?"

 

"Chester, I -"  
  
"I love you."

 

Those words from Sebastian's lips make my chest ache something horribly, make something cold and lost drop down into my stomach, and I suddenly can't remember my line. I'm suddenly struck by what I've lost, by what one day could have been mine - and I'm frozen under the lights, just staring at him, my eyes hot.

 

There's a horrible, long pause. 

 

"I love you, David." Sebastian repeats, a little more stiffly. He's prompting me. His hands tighten infinitesimally on mine. Not a squeeze. A prompt, annoyance. I just gawp at him, stricken.

 

_We could have had something. You were so gentle with me. You cared so much._

_I ruined it all. I'm a killer. I don't belong here. You can't stand the sight of me._

There's supposed to be a kiss. I know there is. David is supposed to say something, and it leads into a kiss, but I can't for the life of me remember what it is, and the awkward silence on set is only growing worse. I could swear that I hear Honsson sigh, and my gaze flicks back to Sebastian's own, the shadow of irritation visible behind the blue. 

 

"I-"

 

I try, but Sebastian has already taken the situation in hand. His hand finds my cheek, grips it brusquely, and he leans in to kiss me. His lips are warm, but the kiss is abrupt - impatient and brisk, and when he leans back again, there's a kind of flat detachment in his expression. 

 

"I love you too." David says, but it's hollow from my mouth, and as Honsson calls 'CUT', I see Sebastian roll his eyes as he turns away. He's already striding off set to retrieve his coffee, leaving me standing there with a lump in my throat, and shame burning in my chest.

 

_Why did you think it would be different? Did you think it could go back?_

"Sebastian, James. Both of you over here."

 

\--

 

To my surprise, Honsson doesn't tell me off. I'm expecting him to; I totally messed up that scene, choosing not to do the first kiss, and then fluffing the second - and all because Sebastian had to say 'I love you'. It's stupid. It's fucking pathetic, on my part. Sebastian stands next to me, though won't look at me, lips pursed flat as we listen to the director tell us his 'vision' for the scene. It's Honsson being kind; telling us in his own way that it didn't go how he wanted. Maybe he's taking it easy on me because I've been off.   
  
"Okay? We ready for another take?"

 

If Elaine is watching this from somewhere, I'll be mortified. If this scene even makes it into the film... 

 

"Right. Let's go from the top, people."

 

_David. I'm David. I'm visiting my lover's house while his parents are out. He's angry that I won't leave my wife for him, and that his parents won't accept us. He's scared of a death sentence. The uncertainty of it all._

Sebastian stalks off again, and Honsson catches me before I go, gives my shoulder a squeeze. 

 

"Don't worry." He says quietly. "You've done the right thing. He was never going to take it well."

 

He heads off, and I stand confused for a moment, not sure what he means. It only clicks when I'm standing back behind that door, the director counting us down again.

 

He thinks I've broken things off with Sebastian to go back to Craig. That's why he's treating us with kid gloves. He thinks Sebastian is upset, brooding. 

 

I realise with resignation that he was right, last week. Dating co-stars. It does make it all awkward, and horrible. 

 

I remember how we'd laughed, then. Sharing a muffin in our puffer coats between takes.

 

"And ACTION!"

 

\--

 

The scene comes together slowly, but it's painful. Eight takes, until Honsson is satisfied, and even then it's with a grim kind of resignation that he waves us off set. Eleanor heads over with water bottles, but Sebastian has already stalked off somewhere, and I take mine back to my trailer morosely, feeling much more downcast than I thought I would.

 

_What did you expect? Best friends?_

 

Even if our passionate 'I love you's got better with every take, those kisses were always the same. Almost clinically precise; Sebastian tilting his head for the right angle, his lips motionless against mine, professionally detached. I wonder if that's what  this is. Ignoring me. Professionalism. An attempt at finishing the film, even if it kills us both. 

 

Right now, I think I'd rather be kissing Rex than going through that awkward, stilted scene again. 

 

Despite all my promises to Geraldine... I don't think I can do this.

 


	25. The Fall

I stay in my trailer for a good portion of the day.

 

I sign cast cards for fans, though I doubt anyone knows who I am yet, and I drink coffee after coffee, laying on the suede sofa. I make myself available to Viana and Mansfield, texting and emailing answers to their questions, and keeping up with Viana's negotiation. I suppose I need to keep on top of things... Right now, going back to crime properly seems the most appealing choice facing me. 

 

Mansfield calls me to give me whatever intel he can glean from Burch's men. The word is that he's on the warpath - on a mission to annihilate any opposition. It doesn't seem to matter that I quit. He's been after me anyway, it seems. Though I find it a little relieving that I'm not the only one. He must be after at least six of us; his 'rivals'. 

 

One of the runners brings me a late lunch, and I sit morosely in my trailer, eating the sandwich and crisps alone. I could go and find Geraldine and Lisa. I could sit with the crew, make new friends - but what would be the point? I've made my mind up now, and I can't keep doing this. Not if Sebastian's going to be so cold with me. He's got every right, but I can't... handle that.

 

_Pathetic._

 

I start making plans for this evening. I book myself a hotel under a fake name, book a cab from the studios to there, with a stop on the way at Sebastian's place. I don't think I could bear to stay there after today, even if they don't kick me out. It'd be empty, no Rex. I'd feel even more pathetic than I do now - hanging onto the last thread of a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me. 

 

I check the time at just gone three o clock, and it's time for my second and last scene of the day- thankfully with Lisa, and not Sebastian. He's probably already gone home with his mother.

 

Heading out of my trailer, I feel a heavy weight on my chest. I'm glum, the excited nerves from this morning having been squashed into nonexistence, my decision to stay with the film having decidedly been totally wrong. I know it educates, I know it's for a great cause... but it's not worth this feeling. I thought I'd come so far from last week, from the despair as Sebastian drove away, but it's hit me full force again, and I wrap my arms around my chest as I head back to set, unhappy. That winter chill has turned into a depressing drizzle, and I'm looking up at the thick, dim clouds, squinting into the rain as a figure sidles over silently.

 

I jump when I realise, and Craig smiles, a crude sneer. I purse my lips flat, and say nothing. He's walking alongside me.  
  
"You look different with your clothes on." He says at last, and the words are offhand, mocking. I feel that humiliation descend; the memory of being groggy, half frozen from that pit, stripping down at the side of the road on Craig's command. Taking him into my mouth, a greasy hand fisting in my hair, making me choke on him. 

 

I don't react. I say nothing. It's only five minutes to the warehouse. There are people around... somewhere. 

 

"Boyfriend's not here to look after you, then?" Craig scoffs, and I just purse my lips flat, wishing my body wasn't suddenly on edge, my nerves taut, ready to wince if he so much as moves towards me. It gives me a secret thrill, a secret ounce of satisfaction to see those bruises on Craig's face. To think about Sebastian's fist cracking over and over into his flesh. For a moment, I let myself believe that I did it.

 

_As if.  You're far too weak._

"Excuse me. _"_

I say at last. I've turned to go towards the warehouse, but he's stepped into my path, and moves every time I do - like a jeering school bully. 

 

"Craig." I say exasperated, but to my chagrin it sounds more like a plea, and that smile comes back, those dark eyes glittering. He takes a step closer, and I take one back automatically. 

 

My back hits a trailer - an empty one, for supporting artists. I'm suddenly ashamed of cowing away. I tilt my chin at him, and Craig raises an amused eyebrow at my attempt at defiance.

 

_Look at you._

"Excuse me. I'm in the next scene." I say, clipped. 

 

I don't need this, I think. I don't need this film. I don't need acting, I don't need fame and reputation. It's not worth it. It's not worth the pain.

 

I'll be better off in crime. And that's where I'll go.  I don't need Craig anymore.

 

I don't need him anymore.

 

The thought is strangely freeing, and I make to step around him. I'm proud of myself, and yet Craig ruins it so simply. I'm walking past him, and then a rough hand grabs a handful of my arse and squeezes, and his mouth is by my ear, growling, rancid breath in my face. "Could he taste my come in your mouth? Was that it, mm?"

 

I cringe away from him, slap away those hands, and grit my teeth. His hand is a vice grip around my arm still, and we're standing in the drizzle, that humiliation burning in my chest, and rage beginning to build in my stomach.

 

_Everything he's done. Everything he's done to me. All the ways he's hurt me._

"Is that why he dumped you?" Craig adds, his growl just as mocking, and I spin, push him away from me as hard as I can. 

 

"You don't own me anymore." I spit at him, and then I'm stalking away, heading for the safe, warm light of the warehouse, a kind of... a kind of power in my chest. A new lift to my shoulders. Pride, it might be. I'm tired of Craig trying to hurt me. And  one day... one day, when I'm far away from this, when the film is history... I'll come back for him. I'll kill him, yet.

 

_Backbone._

 What I'm not expecting is the heavy slam into the warehouse wall - the vice grip around my upper arm. I'm seeing stars for a moment as Craig turns me to face him, and try and yank myself free, but he holds fast, spitting his venomous words in my face. "You don't get to walk away from me..."

 

"Yes he does."

 

The voice is curt and female, and when I look behind us, Geraldine stands, her lips pursed flat together and her eyes blazing. Crew members duck in and out of the warehouse entrance a few metres away, seemingly oblivious to whatever is going on here - but they're close enough to worry Craig. He hasn't thought this through, I see now, as he looks back at Geraldine. It's as though he's deciding whether or not to let me go; to put on that gentle, casting director front. But Geraldine's disgust is written plainly on her face. And as Craig reads it, that grimace on his own face deepens. 

 

"Mind your own business, you old hag."

 

Anger burns in my chest at that, and I wrench myself from Craig's grasp. 

 

"Very original." Geraldine says crisply. 

 

"...Go fuck yourself." I spit at Craig, and it's the most defiant I've ever been. Geraldine's hand comes to rest on my back, and my heart pounds as I glare at Craig, staring him down. Perhaps I'm shooting my film dreams in the face. But I don't care anymore. I don't need him. Craig's eyes widen in surprise, his mouth dropping open a touch, and proud satisfaction comes to settle in my stomach.

 

_I don't need you anymore._

 

I turn away, Geraldine's hand on my back steering us away from Craig - but he's not done yet. 

 

He seems to think better of making a lunge for me; but he speaks quietly, a low threat that puts something cold into my chest.

 

"I know who you are."

 

My steps falter, though Geraldine tries to keep me walking.  
  
"I know what you've done."

 

I stop at that, still facing away from him. Geraldine looks down at me, concerned. She's trying to guide me away, still. 

 

"I could ruin you."

 

I turn around at that, hatred simmering in my stomach. Geraldine puts a hand on my shoulder in warning, but I walk back to Craig anyway, leaning in to hiss at him. 

 

"...Thentry. _I dare you._ " I smile, letting Moriarty take over for once, though my heart still stutters in my chest, and my palms are clammy. I've waited for so long. Endured in silence for so long. 

 

I lean in, my expression scathing. My voice is just a whisper, hidden from Geraldine.

 

"And I'll have them peel your skin off."

 

If he knows about me; about M and his men, about my empire... then he'll know that I can follow through on that promise. Those dark eyes flick between mine uncertainly, trying to decide if I'm serious.

 

And then Geraldine guides me away, and onto set.

 

\--

 

I can't calm down until halfway through the scene, and poor Lisa has to carry it by herself until I can gather myself together again. It's another six take monstrosity, and when we finally finish, Lisa gives me a squeeze, sensing my disappointment.

 

"Don't be too disheartened." She says, "It takes a day or so to get back in the swing of things. Are you in tomorrow?"

_I don't think so._

 

I smile, assure her that I am, and she heads off happily towards her trailer. I sigh, and lope off for costume, hoping that Geraldine is still around so that I can thank her again. She said almost nothing about the Craig debacle; only that she was 'going to have a word with Honsson' - and I'm not entirely convinced that anything will come from that. Honsson is Craig's friend, after all. And he's been blind to his real personality for so long.

 

When I come out of the costume changing room, Elaine is standing there, Rex on his lead at her side. He wags his tail when he sees me, and I bend down and scratch behind his ears. I'm going to miss him.  
  
"...I'd have thought you'd be at home by now." I say, and she says nothing until I've straightened. Her expression is sad. Apologetic, almost.   
  
"...Sebastian's waiting for me in the car."

 

"Oh."

 

"I saw the scene, today." 

 

I look away at that with an attempt at a nonchalant nod, but I'm embarrassed. Of all the times to see me act, she sees that trainwreck of a scene with her son. I wonder if she'll tell me to give up now. 

 

To my surprise, she clasps my hands. 

 

"...Please don't give up on him, Jim."

 

I blink a few times, not expecting that, but the hope in my chest is dampened by the memory of today. "...Elaine.."

 

"He's just stubborn. He thinks he knows everything. He idolised his father."  
  
"Does he know that he wasn't...?"  
  
"I've tried to tell him. I'm not sure he wants to believe me. He feels lied to."  
  


"By both of us." I finish quietly, and Elaine lets go of my hands, passes over Rex' lead. 

 

"Take him for tonight."  
  
"Elaine, I -"

 

"You shouldn't be alone. Bring him in again, tomorrow. I'm here again."

 

I purse my lips, thinking of the hotel room, already booked. Of my plan to abandon the film completely.

 

"...I'm not sure I can do that again."  I say, and the words are defeated, tired. That was the hardest scene I've ever filmed. I've already seen the line up for tomorrow. It's the second sex scene.

 

There's no way in hell I can endure ten takes of Sebastian holding himself against me with that resentment in his eyes. 

 

"..You're not going to quit?" Elaine asks me in unhappy surprise, and I watch Rex instead of answering, the dog laying down at my feet. "You can't, James. I won't let you."

 

I laugh, but it's humourless. Sad. "...Everyone seems to want me to stay. Except him."  
  
"....Just give him time."

 

Elaine pleads, and I can't say no, I can't look into those blue eyes - the same as Sebastian's - and tell her that I'm giving up.

 

I purse my lips flat in my unease, and then after a long pause, a long moment of thought - just hold out my hand for Rex' lead. 

 

"One more day." I agree resignedly. "...And then -"  
  
"And then you can reassess."

 

I roll my eyes at that, and Elaine smiles, embraces me. 

 

"... I mean it." She says quietly, against my shoulder. "I've never seen him as happy as that."

 

"It's ruined." I explain softly, Rex' muzzle nudging our knees between us. "...I'd ruined it before it'd even started."

 

She leans back again, and then picks up Rex' bed and toys, setting it closer to me. 

 

"Give it another chance. What can it hurt?" 

_My pride. My heart._

_I'm weak._

"I'd better get back to him. He's waiting in the car."  She heads for the door, and Rex hops onto the sofa beside me, happily enough. "...I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
I sigh, wondering what I've put myself in for. Again.  
  
"...Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

\--


	26. The Lost

A part of me is secretly pleased to be going back to the Southbank apartment with Rex, having created my own kind of home there over the past week. The dog seems nonplussed as we go up in the lift, happy when he pads inside the flat again, and does his routine lap of the room, sniffing out any change. My phone is ringing, and I answer it, hold it to my ear as I walk around making myself some dinner, pleased that I didn't throw out what little food I had in. Viana's negotiation went well; she's gotten the clients down to 1.5 mil, which is lower even than what Burch was going to pay. I can't seem to get hold of Mansfield, but I expect he's still enjoying himself, in interrogation with the men. 

 

I sit down with my food in front of the laptop, and spend my night answering emails. Getting back into the swing of becoming Moriarty again, in between learning my lines for tomorrow. I feel daft for promising Elaine that I'd go back... and again, the nightmare of that scene sits in my mind. I cringe at the thought of tomorrow's sex scene. But I tell myself that it's the last time. The last day, if Sebastian insists on.. being like that. It's understandable, of course. I just can't work that way.

 

I'd rather go back to my roots. 

 

I go to sleep again in Sebastian's bed, with Rex curled up beside me. And bitterly, sadly... in my heart of hearts, I know. 

 

This is home.

 

\--

 

Rex and I have to go through our same routine again in the morning. We have breakfast, pack away his things. I take a call from Viana in the car, my executive excited that she's secured a meeting with a middle eastern arms dealer. I tell her to keep me informed, and then suddenly, we're arriving back at the studio again, the sun shining against the backdrop of the warehouse. I'm early.

 

Deciding to keep myself distracted, I dump Rex' things in the green room and help myself to a slice of toast, before taking the dog for a walk around, the Alsatian inquisitive in the dewy morning light. I'm wearing my puffer coat already, because it's freezing out, though Rex doesn't seem to mind, pulling me this way and that until he's explored every single tree in the Essex lot. By the time we get back, my fingers are stiff with cold and my nose red, and it's a welcome relief to slip into the warehouse, heaters blazing from all angles. I don't think Elaine and Sebastian have arrived yet, so I take Rex with me into make-up and costume - where to my surprise, he's doted on and treated to biscuits by the costumiers. I'm amused - I'd have assumed they'd be precious about getting hair on their materials.

 

Worried about my body, I'd asked Bev and Chelsea when I was in the chair about more of that clay - but after taking a look at me, they'd come to the mutual decision that it wasn't necessary. That the few bruises I still had could be covered with only light make-up under my tunic - this sex scene is supposed to be warmer, anyway. Less nudity, in a bed this time, swathed in sheets. In David's marital bed, of all places. 

 

The thing itself looks amazing - I stand on the edge of the set with Rex, looking over the four poster monstrosity, laden with pillows and cushions, thick cream and golden sheets, and swathes of translucent fabric that hangs down from the four posts like drapes. The lighting team are at work; they've bathed the set in soft golden light, and everything about it - the deep magenta walls, the photographed sunset coming through a 'window' - screams 'love'. It makes my chest ache. 

 

"James."  Honsson's voice is strained slightly, unhappy. He's appeared at one side of me, and I glance at him. "...A word?"  
  


I nod, frowning, and step to one side with him, where he appears to be struggling with what he has to say - with the wording, perhaps. I watch him for a minute, Rex' lead still in my hand as the dog sits at my feet. "...John?"

 

"I've asked for Craig to stay off set today."

 

The words are slow, laden with meaning, and Honsson can't quite look me in the eye for a moment. He's really struggling. I frown.   
  
"...Oh?"  
  
"Geraldine... let me know that you two have been.. having problems."  
  


It's as though he's thinking through each word before he says it. I just purse my lips flat. That's an understatement.

 

"...Yes."

 

"I thought it best - we - thought it best, if he... keeps his distance."  
  
"..I see."

 

Honsson looks relieved at that, and very quickly claps a hand on my shoulder, readying to leave. I wonder what he thinks of me now. Whether he believes what Geraldine is telling him, or thinks that she's lying, embellishing, perhaps. Whether he regrets urging me to stay with Craig. He just seems eager to get away from the whole topic. 

 

"Fantastic. We're almost ready to start."

 

I should say something, I know I should. Demand that he's banned from the set completely, or ask for an apology, but in the end, Honsson just hurries to his director's chair, and I shake my head, turning on the spot until I see Elaine heading straight for me. Rex squeals and howls, running for her, and she laughs when he pulls free of the lead in my hand, bounding over to her.   
  
"I left his things in the green room." I tell her when I get close enough, and she's fussing the dog, rubbing between his ears. She nods. 

  
"Thank you."

 

There's something about her voice, about the earnest words and that shine to her blue eyes that make me think that she's not thanking me for the dog. That she's thanking me for coming back. I just nod, awkward, and gesture back at the set. "...I should..."  
  


She smiles, and leans in, giving me a squeeze of a hug - as much as she can, with Rex still bounding up at her.  
  
"Knock them out of the park."

 

\--

 

I watch Elaine head over to the green room, and as she does, Sebastian heads out of costume, buttoning up his tunic over a muscled chest. I look away, biting the inside of my cheek. 

 

He glances in my direction as he heads onto set, and I see his jaw set, see that resolve flicker across his expression not to talk to me. My heart sinks - and straight away, I can see how this is going to go.   
  
"Can we have a closed set?" Honsson calls, an order, and Eleanor begins guiding out any crew members left in here, the lighting guys happy with their work as they head off, Bev hanging around with her make-up bag for the time being. The door shuts behind Eleanor, and I recognise the same two cameramen as the last sex scene setting up their framing - a wide shot of the bed. I wonder if they have some sort of qualification for this. Sex scenes. 

 

Bev has been touching up Sebastian's make-up, and as she heads over to do the same for me, I watch him reading over his script. I will him to look in my direction, to just look up and catch my eye - but he won't, staring almost defiantly down at the papers. Can't he see that he's just making it worse? That we'll have to do this ten, twenty more times if it isn't how Honsson wants it? If it isn't loving?

 

I sigh, thank Bev, and then walk straight over to him, arms folded over my costume. 

 

For a moment, it's as if he's considering keeping ignoring me, even like this. Even when I stand in front of him, waiting for his attention. Obviously, he must decide against it - because he glances up for a fraction of a second, and then nonchalantly back down at his script. "Do you need something?"

 

"You to stop being an idiot."

 

I can't help it. The words fly out of my mouth, clipped and petty - and after a beat, Sebastian looks up at me, an eyebrow raised in indignation. Irritation flickers through those blue eyes. My chest aches at how far we've come. 

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"You heard me."  The bravado that I started with is fading rapidly in light of my thudding heart, a pain in my chest at the fact that we're even talking. That only a week ago, he'd be chuckling, holding my hand, making me fall in love with that crooked grin and those twinkling blue eyes. "... I know you don't like me anymore. I understand why. But we've got to work together, and I'd rather not do twenty takes of this one if it's all the same to you."

 

Sebastian just blinks at me, unimpressed.   
  
"Like it's my fault you can't keep it together." He says, and I just smile, forced and sarcastic. 

 

"Like it's my fault that you couldn't kiss your way out of a paper bag."

 

Sebastian's eyes blaze, and I stalk away from him, getting into position. He stalks after me, script still gripped in his hand. 

 

"I'm trying, Jim." He says, and the words are almost a warning. I think of another harsh retort, but I bite my tongue, force myself to be professional.

 

Think of the film. Think of his mother, willing you to give him time.

 

Think about how gentle his hands were on you.

 

"...Good." I say at last, a little stiffly. I nod, letting that anger deflate slightly in my chest. You can't blame him. It's not his fault. "...Thank you."

 

Sebastian doesn't seem to be expecting that, but eventually just nods himself, and then heads away again, stashing his script off set. The cameramen are ready, and I move to wait in the door, Sebastian joining me after a moment. Honsson counts us down. 

 

We share a look - just a glimpse, a split second. An impasse. A forced truce, on his part.

 

_You were all I ever wanted._

 

"And ACTION!"

 

\--

 

David and Chester tumble through the door, tearing at one another's clothes, eyes half closed as they kiss, frenzied. Chester pulls off his boots, hopping one leggedly as David strips off his lover's tunic, and lets his hands run down his muscled chest. David is pushed back onto the bed, his own trousers pulled away, and soon Chester is laying over him, kissing him with a ferocity that makes David whimper for more, dragging his fingernails down Chester's bare back. 

 

"Okay, guys! Fantastic! We're going to get a couple of quick shots to get the clothes on the floor, and then we should be ready for the cutaway. Why don't you both get undressed."

 

Honsson's voice breaks the spell, and then I'm Jim again, and suddenly terribly self-conscious, half naked on the bed with Sebastian pinning me there. He stands immediately, and he's breathing hard, and he won't meet my eye again as I sit up, arms around myself. 

 

_That was hot as fuck._

_It wasn't him. It wasn't you. It was Chester and David._

_But did he really need to put his tongue in my mouth? Grind himself up against me?_

_He was just acting._

 

I admit, Sebastian seemed very into that, and I convince myself that it was from our chat. From our decision to attempt to be professional; and certainly not from those angry words that passed between us... Both of us deciding to 'show' the other just how well we can do this. Just how little the other affects us. 

 

I avert my eyes as he undresses, stripping down nonchalantly until he's sauntering around the set drinking a  bottle of water, cock standing to half mast. Desire unfurls in my stomach, hot and visceral, and I look away, quietly, quickly taking the remainder of my own clothes off, and trying to stay out of the way of the cameras as they pan past. I haven't been offered a cock sock this time, but I doubt I would have taken it anyway. They're even more mortifying than the nudity - though now, I have a bigger problem.

 

Not as big as Sebastian's, granted. 

 

I cringe when Honsson glances over with raised eyebrows. "...Er. Are you two okay?"

 

"It's a gift." Is all Sebastian says, a sarcastic quip, and the director just holds up his hands.  
  
"Whatever. Ready for a take?"

 

"Yup."

 

"Sebastian, I want you to barrel him down into the bed, and then more kissing. We're going for sweet and loving here, guys. Just give me that."

 

A pause, and I purse my lips, giving just a nod. The first half was one thing, but this is something else completely. The last time this happened.. My eyes find the bathroom, my cheeks burning hot.   
  
"James? Everything alright?" Honsson calls, and I nod, head naked to the end of the bed. Sebastian walks over, and for the first time in two days, his eyes are on me. Fixed on me, in fact. There's a kind of defiance there, and I see immediately that this is about proving a point. Proving he can act, despite what has happened between us. Proving that I'm not affecting him, though his body seems to be betraying him on that front. I can't say anything. Mine is exactly the same. 

 

He glares at me, as if it's my fault, but there's an aloofness to his expression too, to the way he saunters over. I grit my teeth. 

 

"Sweet and loving, boys. Alright?"

 

"Got it." Sebastian says flatly. We're staring one another out, tense and determined. 

 

Honsson takes his seat.

 

"And ACTION."

 

\--

 

Sebastian's body finds mine, and he's pushing me back onto the bed, a warm, thick thigh between my own. Blue eyes find brown, and there's a determined quality to that kiss; forceful and expert at the same time, tongue parting my lips and pressing against my own as we fall into the pillows. I reach up, fisting a hand in his hair to keep him there, defiant myself, rising to the challenge after his sarcasm and irritation. 

 

"Stop." 

 

Honsson doesn't even call cut - and the word sounds tired, resigned. Sebastian pulls back, and I'm breathing hard, sitting up on the bed, trying to disentangle our bare bodies. I'm rock hard, and subtly pull one of those golden covers over my crotch. Sebastian doesn't even seem to care, sitting brazenly on the edge of the bed.

 

"I said sweet and loving, boys. What the hell was that?"

 

Honsson looks dubious, anxious, as though he's worried that he might not be able to achieve this after all.   
  
"I can do it." Sebastian says flatly. "Let's go again."

 

"James?"

 

I fold my arms over my chest. Sebastian looks at me with his lips pursed flat. I say nothing. Honsson sighs.  
  
"You've got thirty seconds. Then we do another take."

 

\--

 

Honsson heads off, and Sebastian looks at me, irritated again. "What are you doing? I thought you wanted it over with?"  
  
"It's not going to work if you're manhandling me. He doesn't want rough. He doesn't want it down and dirty. It's not the barn."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry." The sarcasm is cutting. "What exactly do you suggest we do?"  
  
I don't look at him when I speak, my voice just a touch quieter. 

 

"... Perhaps you could fuck me like you aren't a horny teenager at a house party."

 

I can almost hear him grinding his teeth.   
  
"...And how do you suppose I do 'soft and sweet'?"

 

"I don't know." I say, and my eyes find his. I can't hide the loss in my expression. The hurt that he's left behind. "You managed it once."

 

Surprise flickers momentarily over Sebastian's expression, replacing that irritation, but I don't see it for long. I'm turning away, Honsson calling for us to get in position again. Whatever. Whatever happens, just let it happen. Whatever we had, it's broken beyond repair, and we just have to get this done however we can.

 

And if we can't manage real sentiment, then Honsson will just have to... deal with it. 

 

"Let's try under the covers this time, boys. Soft. And. Sweet."

 

I keep my eyes averted from Sebastian's as I slip beneath the covers, everything warm cream and gold, the light casting a dim and beautiful glow over my skin - I can't see a single mark, a single bruise, for once. Sebastian climbs beneath the sheets and holds himself over me, and I can feel him, feel the warmth of his cock, the muscled bulk of his body, elbows braced by either side of me. He's watching me, but I can't look at him.

 

I regret this. I regret coming back for the second day. I regret letting Honsson tell us to be soft, and sweet.

 

I regret talking about that night. I'm suddenly dragged back in time to this exact position, Sebastian's mouth worshipping my body, warm, roughskinned hands roaming over my skin, so much love and care there, love and care that I'd never felt before. 

 

Right now, I lay prone beneath him, eyes averted, trying desperately not to think about it too much. My eyes feel hot. 

 

"And ACTION."

 

The covers lay across Sebastian's back, and billow as he lifts himself up on his elbows, beginning to move against me as if we're having sex. He's touching me, the skin of his arms by my sides, his thigh between both of mine, cock coming to rest against my stomach. I can smell him - the sweet, earthy scent that's just Sebastian, mingling with his shampoo, and the industrial strength costumier's washing powder. I close my eyes, tilt my head back a touch, hoping it looks like David is enjoying himself, overwrought by the romance of it all.

 

Really it's me. Not being able to cope with the pretense. 

 

"...David..." Sebastian whispers quietly, and there's a lump in my throat, my fists tightening in the sheets on either side of me. I'm losing it quickly. I can't deal with this. I wanted to give Honsson the shot he needs, but God, I can't do this, I can't do -

 

Sebastian's mouth finds mine. 

 

I'm not expecting it, eyes closed, and I almost jump, stilling a little as those lips press against my own. I'm expecting cold detachment again; flat, prone lips - but Sebastian's mouth is warm and pliant, and he makes a sound against me, something akin to the breath of a moan.

_He really is a much better actor than me._

 

I part my lips automatically when his tongue presses close, and then meet it with mine, arching my body up slightly against Sebastian's. I can feel my eyes get hotter, and suddenly they're wet as we rock together slowly, kissing so sweetly, so fucking gently that I know without a shadow of a doubt that he's still got me, that I'm still his, no matter how much he despises me. 

 

When he breaks the kiss at last, he presses his forehead against mine to breathe, and my breaths are ragged, emotional. I open my eyes, and those tears eke down my cheeks, Sebastian's blue eyes lingering on them for only a moment before his mouth is on mine again, so soft, his thumb warm as it strokes away those tears. He's still rocking slowly, and I hesitantly bring my hands up to rest on his back, letting my eyes slip shut again. Sebastian sucks my bottom lip into his mouth lightly, and I moan - just a breath of a sound, and then those tears are coming again, leaving fresh tracks on my cheeks. 

 

Sebastian lifts a hand, and braces it on the headboard. His other arm slides beneath me, pulls me closer to him, and it's as though we're fucking for real, but more than that... closer, gentler, softer. It's as though the cameras aren't there behind the reams of gossamer fabric, as though my lips make my apologies for me, all the apologies that I can't give him. It's as though he forgives me, that tongue pressing against my own, those fingers curled tight around my waist, warm and steady. 

 

"And cut."

 

Honsson's voice is soft, almost awed. It takes a fraction of a second too long for Sebastian and I to spring apart - but when we do, he moves back to sit on the edge of the bed, and runs a hand over his face. I just sit up as best I can, tear tracks down my cheeks. I look at Sebastian's back as he faces away from me... and then suddenly, I feel empty again.  Worse than before. Torn to pieces. I hate acting.

 

Isn't it just pretending?

 

"That was magical, boys."

 

Honsson says, but I'm scrambling from the bed, grabbing at my clothes, my eyes swimming again. If I blink, that's it. My acting prowess, whatever genius Honsson thinks he just saw, will be revealed as just raw, stupid, childish emotion. I climb hurriedly into my clothes, angrily brushing away those tears, and clumsily aim for the door, Honsson too busy looking over his footage to worry about where I'm going. I'm mortified. I'm ragged. I feel like I've swallowed glass, and felt it cut my throat, my insides on the way down. The door clatters shut behind me - and I just have time to see Sebastian watching me with unreadable blue eyes from where he still sits on the bed.

 

_I can't do this._

_You're right. I'm weak._


	27. The Hurt

I head straight for the green room, even in my chaotic mind knowing that I don't want to make the trek out to my trailer alone, not when Craig is still lurking. I can't think straight, a pain in my chest worse than any beating, and my eyes still wet, no matter how many times I angrily palm at them. I push through the door, and I've completely forgotten about Rex, who bounds up at me, tongue lolling. To my relief, there's no sign of Elaine.  
  
I sink down onto the sofa and Rex jumps up, curls up happily next to me. I hide my face in his fur, and just force myself to breathe, to calm down. Luckily, I only have one more scene today, and it's not with him.  
  
 _Why did you think you could do this?_  
  
He tries a bit of fake romance, and suddenly you're a mess.  
  
You're pathetic.  
  
I can't come back again. Not now. Yesterday was different. I thought maybe that I could change something. But this... This is just torturing myself. It's not fair. It hurts.  
  
I don't hear the door open; only the pounding of Rex' tail on the sofa at the sight of whoever has come in, and soon, Sebastian comes to a stop in front of me, his voice both stiffly awkward and concerned.  
  
"...Are you okay?"  
  
I've still got my face buried in Rex' fur. I don't move for a moment, considering just staying there. Hiding. If I can't see him, then he can't see me. I don't want him to see the tear tracks.  
  
Let him think they were all just for show. Acting.  
  
Sebastian sighs. "...James?"  
  
I lift my head, and the reproach is written in my red eyes. I look away. "I'm fine, Sebastian. Leave me alone."  
  
"...Honsson's gushing about that scene."  He tactically doesn't mention my eyes. I look down at Rex instead of at him. His voice is so... different somehow. Like he's finding every word difficult. "I didn't know you could cry on cue."  
  
Embarrassment burns in my chest.  "Neither did I."  
  
Silence falls between us, and neither one of us knows what to say. It's horrible, this tense brokenness between us. Sebastian reaches down, and scratches Rex between the ears. I still won't look at him.  
  
"Your mum can take him home today. She misses him."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"He's been so good."  
  
Sebastian just nods, and then straightens. I risk a glance at him - just for a fraction of a second. He doesn't look so antagonistic, now. He's not avoiding my gaze - though he still stands awkward and stiff in his costume, not sure what to say.  
  
...Perhaps we do need to talk about it. About his father. About him having gone rogue. Perhaps if it comes from me... perhaps if I talk him through it properly... I wanted to recruit the police officer. I really did. But I had no choice. I don't kill on a whim. I never have.  
  
"...When's your last scene today?" I ask him, eyes finding Rex again, the dog rolling onto his back. I scratch his belly.  
  
"I wrap at four."  
  
A pause. I bite the inside of my cheek before asking. Hesitant.  
  
"We could go to McGann's. Talk."  
  
Sebastian looks at me, perhaps in surprise, but I don't know because I can't look back at him, can't bring myself to let my puffy eyes settle on his. But at least, if maybe he'll give me a chance to explain...  
  
"... I don't think that's a good idea." He says at last, and those stilted words are a touch softer. I close my eyes, and he adds a quieter; "Sorry."  
  
What did you expect?  
  
I just nod, though my chest burns again, and I extricate myself from Rex and stand, making for the door. I can't deal with the awkwardness. It's only marginally better than being ignored, and he just rejected my only attempt to make amends. What can I do?  
  
Leave. He wants you to leave.  
  
\--  
  
It's lunchtime, and though I don't feel like eating, I'll need energy if I'm going to get through my next scene with Lisa. I glumly grab a plastic plate full of snacks from the buffet cart, and I'm heading through to my next set, not wanting to go back to the green room - when I walk straight into Elaine, almost sending the food flying.  
  
"Oh - sorry!"  
  
"It's fine."  I sound hollow, even to my own ears. Today has completely drained me.  
  
"Oh, James - I was just coming to find you."  
  
"Oh?"  I wish I sounded more interested. It's as though the numbness has taken hold of my voicebox, too.  
  
"That scene... it was beautiful."  Her voice is soft at that, her eyes earnest, and she shakes her head, gives my arms a squeeze. "...I snuck into the producer's gallery. They let me have a look. My God... it was breathtaking."  
  
I blush, embarrassed, wondering what she saw. Me, crying, probably, while her son moved on top of me behind drapes of gossamer fabric. Those kisses. Too soft and sweet for me to handle.  
  
"Thank you." I manage to mumble after a while, and make to step around her, but she catches me, concern evident in that blue gaze.  
  
"Jim..." She says, her hand on my arm giving a gentle squeeze. Her voice becomes quieter. "...It was all for the cameras, wasn't it?"  
  
"Of course."  The words come quickly, though I can't hold that concerned gaze, and duck out of her grasp with my plate, heading away. She watches me go, and I call back.  
  
"Rex' things are in the green room. Thank you for letting me have him."  
  
I feel her watching me all the way to set. I can feel her pity in my heart.  
  
\--  
  
It takes another two and a half hours for Lisa and I to get through the next scene, though it isn't particularly long. It's David, almost getting caught by his wife when he returns from Chester's place, and trying to explain himself.  We get it in four takes, and then another four from a different angle at Honsson's request. By the time we wrap, it's just gone four, and I've seen Elaine and Rex heading off - with a bittersweet ache in my chest. That dog has been my companion, kept me sane, kept me fed and getting exercise...  
  
But he belongs with Elaine.  
  
I smile as I head towards the green room with Lisa, nodding away as she speaks animatedly about her husband, and where they're going on their date night tonight. Jealousy flickers in my stomach, and I'm almost glad when she takes her things and gets going, stopping only to hurriedly pass her dress to the costumiers.  
  
It's an early finish today, and the crew have already almost cleared out completely by the time I emerge with my bag, ready for home. I haven't booked a hotel for myself... I'll just have to walk into a few places until I can find somewhere that'll take me. At least I have Craig's old laptop, I reason to myself. It'd be more than annoying to have to sit downstairs on the pay-per-hour machines, having abandoned Sebastian's place.  
  
I've got a lot to sort out, tonight.  
  
My return to the business, full time. My resignation, for Honsson. My goodbye letter for Sebastian. Even after all that's gone on between us... I suppose he deserves that. He's put his heart and soul into it, too. I just can't, anymore.  
  
I take one last look around the set as I walk between the pods, everyone either having gone home, or in the process of doing so. It's empty. Still. A set at peace, and I have a heavy heart as I duck out into the early Winter night, my breath gusting in the darkness before me.  
  
And then heavy hands grab me.  
  
\--  
  
I yell in my shock, but a thick hand clamps down over my mouth - and the faint taste of sweat and garlic is enough to confirm my suspicions.  
  
Craig.  
  
I thrash blindly in his hold, heart beginning to race in my panic, all too aware suddenly that there is nobody around - that Geraldine can't step in again, and be witness to his cruelty. I slap and punch every inch of him that I can, and then Craig makes sure my head hits the wall on the way past, and I lose some of my momentum in the sudden crack of pain, the dizziness.  
  
Perhaps I even black out, because seconds later it seems, I'm blinking myself back into consciousness.  
  
My vision swims, and it takes me a moment to realise that I'm no longer in Craig's grasp. That I'm sitting on a cold concrete floor, my back resting on a wall. He may have just put me down here, because I can see him ahead of me, looking amongst the shelves. With a forced focus, I realise that we're in the props room. I recognise it from that day with Sebastian - the day he finally made me admit what Craig was.  
  
I try to move, and my head gives a white hot throb. I press a hand to it, and then try and get up, my legs like jelly, wobbling this way and that. I lurch for the door, and then Craig turns around. He takes two strides over, and then pushes me down again, hard, a grimace on his face. I hit the concrete like a sack of potatoes, and my voice wavers, an attempt at defiance.  
  
"Let me go." I brace a hand on the wall. "Let me go, now."  
  
"What's wrong, M?"  
  
The words on Craig's tongue are so vindictively gleeful that something cold drops into my stomach, and I still. His expression is dark. Furious. No doubt about Geraldine, Honsson finding out about... well. However much he knows.  
  
M. How does he know that name?  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hmm? Cat got your tongue?" He reaches behind himself, and then looks approvingly at the crowbar he turns between his fingers, before those black eyes find me. "Do you know... They told me you were the best of the best."  
  
"Who?" I say, and force my legs beneath me, trying to get up again. I'm like a newborn lamb, all limbs and no coordination, and my head still swims, dizzy. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. "Who told you?"  
  
"...That you hurt people. That you were ruthless. Powerful."  He drawls the words, looking down amusedly at the crowbar in his hands, though there's nothing amused about his eyes. He's livid.  
  
"...Craig.."  
  
"...But right now... I don't know."  He winks at me mock-jovially, and points that crow bar in my direction, voice sing song.  "You don't look very powerful to me."  
  
I swallow, looking at that weapon.  
  
"Who have you been speaking to?" I ask him, trying to keep my tone reasonable. My legs feel leaden all of a sudden, like I'm wading through mud. I hold up my hands, in defeat. "...Please, Craig."  
  
Inside, Moriarty scoffs at my weakness.  
  
Craig takes a step towards me. Automatically - I take one back.  
  
"You fucked him." He says matter-of-factly, and he's even smiling dumbly, turning that crowbar in his hands. Possessive rage, the jealous flicker of fury runs through his expression, and white hot fear slides into my stomach. I try and pretend that it isn't there. "... You fucked him, and then you came back, and now that bitch has got me banned from my own set."  
  
"... I can talk to Honsson." I reason, and I take another step back. "I can say it was just a misunderstanding -"  
  
"You. Fucked. Moran."  He almost interrupts me with the words, so flat and abrupt, hitting his palm with the crowbar to punctuate each word. The metal hits his flesh with a dull thwack, and my mouth is dry, imagining it slamming into the side of my skull.  
  
I won't survive this.  
  
I almost made it out alive.  
  
I think of that phone, that phone with its damn panic button, sitting uselessly in my bag. I have no idea where that bag is now. I must have dropped it in the skirmish, when Craig grabbed me. Such wasted potential... though I suppose, by the time Viana or Mansfield got here, Craig would have already beaten me to a pulp.  
  
"...Baby.."  It's my only choice. It makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I let that sickly sweetness take over my tone, suddenly pleading with him. I won't die at his hands. I won't. I can't. I've come so far. I've tried so hard. "It meant nothing to me, baby. It's you I want. You're all I've ever wanted."  
  
I try and take a step towards him, but he moves - sudden and aggressive, and he's seething at me through gritted teeth, that crow bar slamming me back, pinning me against the wall. He crowds me up against the concrete, and the metal is pressing up into my throat as Craig spits into my face.  
  
"They told me to turn you over. Said they'd wait, come for you -"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
I choke, but he presses that crow bar harder, and suddenly I'm seeing black splotches.  
  
"... But I couldn't let them have all the fun." His spittle hits me in the face. I'm wincing away from those hissed words, that poisonous grin. "...Not after all you've fucking done..."  
  
"Craig -"  
  
I'm beginning to black out from the intensity of his choking, and he suddenly lets me go. I crumple back down onto the concrete, still seeing black splotches, trying to hold up a hand to protect myself. It could start any second, that onslaught. That crow bar. Breathless, hoarse, I try and muster that sickly sweet tone.  
  
"Pl.. please don't hit me, baby."  
  
Craig smiles, but it's a grimace - he's seething, towering over me as I curl in on myself on the floor. He spits those words down at me in disgust.  
  
"All week. All week, I waited for you to come home."  
  
"I've.. I've been -"  
  
"You've been with him." A wretched grimace, and words that are verging on unstable, a soothing sound beneath all that rage. It frightens me.   "He wanted to take you from me. But I've got you now. I've got you, now."  
  
It's as though he's talking to himself. He's getting closer, and I'm panicking, trying to scramble across the floor, holding my arms up, eyes half closed.  
  
"Please Craig. I haven't been with Sebastian. Please.... he doesn't want anything to do with me. Please don't hit me."  
  
I'm almost sobbing in my terror - because this could kill me. He really could leave me here, a pile of mush, my head caved in. Moriarty cringes and seethes at me from inside, but I don't care.  
  
"Oh, I'm not gonna hit you."  
  
He's not? A glimmer of hope settles in my chest, before he lets one hand drop from the crowbar, and thrusts the metal downwards at me, in front of my face... in a twisting gesture that makes his intentions clear.  His voice is a leering whisper.  
  
"....M'just gonna make sure he can never fuck you again."  
  
Dread drips into my chest.  
  
He's going to use it on me.  
  
It'll tear me apart. Physically. I'll die of internal bleeding.  
  
There's a split second as that understanding clicks, and then suddenly I lunge to his side, scrambling to my feet and making a break for the door. I make it two long strides, before he grabs at me, a scream leaving my throat as he tries to drag me back. My hands grapple for the shelves, knocking down tins and boxes, dusty props from movies long past.  I'm screaming, again and again, no longer prepared to suffer in silence, not this, not this, not this. The thought of the crew finding me in the morning, half naked, torn apart from the inside out...  
  
I thrash in Craig's arms, and he's cursing at me, yelling at me, trying to clamp his hand down over my mouth, but I bite at his fingers like a feral animal.  
  
He jolts, and I'm free long enough to throw myself at the door. His hand seizes the back of my costume, and he slams me back down onto the concrete. He sits on the back of my legs, and the crowbar clatters down onto the concrete beside him. I yell out as his rough hands tear the back of my costume trousers, the material ripping in his grasp as easily as tissue paper, and then he's forcing my underwear down, and I'm screaming, I'm screaming, cold air on my backside, and the scrape of that crowbar on the concrete as he picks it up -  
  
\--


	28. The Shock

_Clang._

I'm still bracing myself when I hear the sound, more of a metallic thud really - and then Craig's hands are no longer braced on my behind, and his weight is gone. I've still got my eyes squeezed shut when he falls down heavily next to me, and stay still, hands curled into fists where they lay. 

 

"...Jim?"

 

Sebastian's voice is soft, but I jump at the sound, and then scrabble to pull up my torn trousers, instantly mortified that Sebastian has found me this way. For some insane reason, I keep my eyes closed, willing him away. If I can't see him... 

 

"Jim, let me help -"  
  
"Go away."  I hide my face in my arms, humiliated. Next to me, Craig is still. I'm not sure what happened. I don't want to look yet. I don't want to face Sebastian. I don't want him to have helped, to have rescued me. Again. 

 

"...No." He says after a moment's pause, and then Craig is moving - a scream bubbling in my throat before I open my eyes, and realise that it's just Sebastian dragging him away by his feet. My heart is still racing, my head aching. I force myself to sit up, and move to lean back against the wall, knees held against my chest. There's a fire extinguisher on the floor. That must have been the 'clang'. 

 

My heart won't calm down. 

 

My eyes settle on that crowbar, laying abandoned on the concrete, and my mouth crumples, my throat suddenly thick. 

 

_A few more minutes, and you'd have been ruined._

 

"Is he dead?" I croak numbly at last from where I sit, speaking into my knees. Sebastian shakes his head, checking Craig's pulse with two fingers, a pursed frown on his own face. Craig's expression is slack, eyes closed, spreadeagled where Sebastian has dragged him.  
  
"No. More's the pity."

 

He takes out his phone, and I watch in alarm, still hugging my knees. "...What are you doing?"  
  
"Calling an ambulance."

_He doesn't deserve an ambulance. Let him rot here._

_Give me that crow bar, and I'll give him a taste of his own medicine._

 

Moriarty thrashes inside me, trying to get out, but I just squeeze my eyes shut and rest my forehead on my knees as Sebastian makes the call. He tells the man on the line that his 'colleague' has taken a fall. That he's hit his head. He gives the studio's address. And then he collects that fire extinguisher and puts it back in its holder. He walks over to me, and something akin to hatred flickers over his expression when he lifts up that crowbar. He sets it on a shelf, and then bends down in front of me at last. 

 

I say nothing, just sitting there, head resting on my knees. My eyes screwed shut. 

 

How can I ever thank him for saving me from that? This wasn't an ordinary beating. 

 

_Damsel in distress. Weak. Pathetic._

 

"Please go."

 

Is all I can manage, hating him seeing me like this. People used to respect me, once. People used to fear me. 

 

"No."  Sebastian's fingers run through my hair, soft. 

 

"Sebastian -"  
  
"I'm taking you home."

 

"I don't need -"  
  
"You hit your head, didn't you?"  
  
"The paramedics -"  
  
"I'm not leaving you here with him."   He spits the 'him' like it's venomous. I just hug my knees tighter, humiliated. I don't want to think about what Sebastian saw. He might have seen it all before, but it's still... it's not... 

 

"Just leave me."

 

A sigh, and then Sebastian's hands are on my arms. He pulls me up both firmly and gently, and hooks an arm around my waist. It's wrong - it's so wrong, that he should be helping me after what I've done. Why didn't he just leave me? Why didn't he let Craig give me my just desserts?

 

"I'm taking you home now." He says flatly, and I just frown, giving in. I'm not sure I have the energy to pull away now, to insist he leave me alone. I let him guide me to the door, and force myself not to take a last look at Craig, out cold on the concrete. There's no blood. I don't know if that's a good sign or not. 

 

_Why do you care?_

 

"...Why are you still here?"

 

I ask Sebastian quietly, trying to extricate myself from him as he leads me to where the cars are, at the back of the warehouse. He doesn't let me go. His jaw is still set in his anger, and he loads me into a car without another word. He closes the door, and pulls out his phone again. The driver glances back at me, but I just lean back against the seats and close my eyes. 

 

After a few minutes, I can hear Sebastian yelling.

 

"I don't give a fuck, John! .... No... No, you fucking listen to me. He shows his face again on this set, and that's it, I'm walking.... An overreaction?! He had a fucking crowbar.... He could have killed him. He's a fucking maniac.... If I see him again, I'll kill him myself.... No, I'm deadly serious. I don't give a fuck who he is... He touches Jim again, I'll do more than just knock him out..."

 

I close my eyes, mortified. I was never supposed to become the victim.

 

"Yeah? Well, you better. I'll be talking to the police tomorrow. ... Yes John, it's fucking necessary. He almost killed one of your - ..... Yeah, well. Good. You make sure you fucking do."

 

Sebastian ends the call, but he doesn't get into the car right away. It sounds like he's pacing. Maybe trying to calm down. 

 

When he finally gets in, he leans forward and gives the driver the address of the Southbank flat. He has my bag in his hand. 

 

"Sorry about that." He says flatly, and then sets my bag down on the seat between us. I say nothing. After a moment, the car pulls away, and then Sebastian finally answers my question from ten minutes ago.  "...I said I'd go for drinks with some of the crew. I saw your bag, and..."

 

He tails off. I know what he'd been about to say. Followed the screams. 

 

I just nod, and the silence falls again. It's thick between us, so much unspoken. At last, we both try and speak at the same time.   
  
"Are you okay?"

"You can drop me at a hotel-"

 

Sebastian answers me first. I'd have had no idea how to answer 'are you okay', anyway. 

 

"...No. I'm taking you back to mine."

 

"...You don't need to do that."

 

I speak to the car window instead of him, still embarrassed at being rescued. Though of course, I'm glad he was there. I can't bear to think about the alternative.

 

"You hit your head." He says simply, as if he can't possibly leave me. As if he couldn't have left me behind to be treated by the paramedics that will come for Craig, as if he couldn't have  just taken me to a hotel.

 

I know I shouldn't ask, but the humiliation is killing me. My voice is small. "...How much did you see?"

 

I can almost hear his jaw setting angrily, even while I'm not looking at him. "...Enough." He mutters. "...I saw enough."

 

\--

 

When we arrive at the flat, I almost don't get out of the car. 

 

It's a horrible feeling, being a burden on someone. Especially for me. I'm so used to handling everything alone, that Sebastian's dislike of me only makes things a hundred times worse. But then he's holding open my car door, bag in his hand, and I'm following after him, back into the building that has been my home for the past week. We stand in the lift in silence, and when we finally reach the door and he unlocks it, I'm struck by how lonely the place seems without Rex. I scrubbed everything down this morning before I left, and it's pristine. Almost like a show flat.

 

But then Sebastian walks in, and I think;  he belongs here. He fits in, makes it warmer, smaller. Cosier. The offhand way he tosses down his jacket and keys, turns on the light without fumbling in the darkness. This is home, for him. And he loaned it to me. Even after all I've done. He's still doing it.

 

He closes the door behind me, and then guides me to the sofa, where I've been sitting for the past week, Rex curled up beside me. I sit down obediently, and then he heads off again, leaving me lost in my thoughts until he returns with a hot cup of tea, and presses it into my hands.  
  
"...For the shock. It's sugary."

 

I give the shadow of a rueful smile at that, eyes still averted.  
  
"...I'm not in shock."

 

"I'm not sure you'd know if you were."

 

"Nothing Craig does to me shocks me any more."

 

Sebastian frowns at that. He stands above me, seemingly not wanting to sit down. It's an awkward impasse.  
  
"...Honsson's barring him from the whole site. I said we were going to involve the police."  
  
"...I can't have anything to do with the police."  
  
"I know."

 

Sebastian turns away, and I sip my tea, morose. The silence that descends is thick and uncomfortable. The elephant in the room has just made his presence known. We can't involve the police because I'm M. And M killed Sebastian's father. 

 

Soon, and possibly to avoid me, Sebastian heads off into the bedroom, and busies himself with changing his bed sheets. Ridding them of my essence, no doubt. Any reminder of me. When I leave this place, I'll really be gone. Perhaps he doesn't need that goodbye letter after all. Perhaps I can just... say it. Watch the nonchalant shrug as he agrees that it's for the best... The thought pains me.

 

When he returns, I'm standing, my hands having finally stopped shaking. I pick up my bag.  
  
"What are you doing?"

 

"... It's better if I get a hotel. I don't want to be a -"  
  
"Sit down, Jim."

 

His tone is no nonsense, and I surprise myself by doing as I'm told. I let my bag slide off my shoulder, and rest on the floorboards. Sebastian folds his arms over his chest.   
  
"I'll take the sofa. You have the bed."  
  
"But you just -"  
  
"If you don't want fresh sheets, feel free to put the old ones back on."

 

I fall silent, and he turns to head off to the kitchen. I can't take the awkwardness any more. The silence. 

 

"Sebastian." I call, and he turns around, an eyebrow raised and his lips pursed flat. I suddenly don't know what I was going to say. I shake my head. "...Thank you."

 

"... For what?" He asks bluntly.   
  
"... For stopping him."

 

\--

 

Sebastian excuses himself to the bedroom, and that's where he remains for the rest of the evening, obviously unable to abide my company. I suppose I should feel grateful that he insisted I come back here, grateful that he wanted to keep an eye on me, but if I'm honest... I just feel worse. I can't relax, knowing he's in the next room, and the guilt burns heavy in my chest, torturing me for what I did so many years ago. 

 

When it's finally late enough to go to sleep - and he's only been out of his room long enough to collect the takeaway pizzas, wordlessly setting one down in front of me and then heading back in - I contemplate sneaking out. But I decide that it wouldn't be fair - not when he's gone to so much effort, for me.

 

I take the empty pizza box into the kitchen, and then pad back out to the sofa, just as Sebastian emerges, dressed in just a t shirt and his boxer shorts, holding a toothbrush. I avert my eyes, and he jabs a thumb towards the bedroom. 

 

"All ready for you."  
  
"Thanks."

 

I take my bag and head on through. I hear him go into the bathroom. I strip down to my pants, and climb into bed.

 

\--

 

I don't sleep.

 

I try. I try damned hard, and it's stupid - I've slept here for over a week's worth of nights now, and the pillows are plush and soft, the fresh sheets smelling like Sebastian's washing powder, and the room like him, since he's been in here for the past few hours. He's left a book on the bedside table, well thumbed, something to do with army life - it lays next to the photograph of his parents. He's turned it to face away from me. 

 

It all whirs in my mind. Everything that's gone on with Craig, with Sebastian and his mother, his father, Geraldine and Honsson. Even Chester and David, the stories intermingling, my head a mess as I lay there and try and sleep, knowing that he's only next door. I'm going crazy laying here, and perhaps its the adrenaline, the leftover panic from Craig's attack, but at two in the morning I sit bolt upright, eyes red and tired, and put my head in my hands. 

 

Eventually, I get up. Sebastian's laptop is in here, and I pull it onto the bed, open the screen and almost blind myself from the bright light in the darkness. Squinting, I load up the emails - but there's next to nothing for me to do. A couple of queries from Viana, requests from other men that I forward on to her to deal with. I close the laptop again, frustrated, and then climb out of bed, deciding to get a drink of water.

 

I open the door quietly, padding out into the darkened living room. Sebastian lays uncomfortably on that sofa, fast asleep with a blanket draped over his middle, and the sight makes me ache. He's so relaxed in sleep. So peaceful. I take a hesitant step closer, and then another, knowing that I'm pushing my luck when I sit down by him. 

 

_I miss you. I miss what we should have had._

 

I reach down with a feather light touch, and cup his cheek with my fingertips, just soft. Just... torturing myself, again. In his sleep, he leans into the touch, and my heart flutters and then sinks, thinking about what he'd do if he was awake. Push me off. Frown at me with those disapproving eyes. 

 

_'I don't think that's a good idea. Sorry.'_

Pull yourself together, Jim.

I stand up slowly, and then head into the kitchen, opening the cupboard to find myself a glass. I almost think that I've dreamed it when I hear his voice, quiet.   
  
"...Come back."

 

"Sebastian?" I say hesitantly, turning around but he says nothing else, and I pad back slowly, tentatively. I stand by the sofa, but he doesn't move, doesn't give any other indication that he's awake. I sit back down beside him. I must have imagined it, I think. Perhaps it was the wind...

 

Suddenly a warm, clumsy hand finds mine and drags it back to rest on his cheek. My chest jolts, and I lean over, keeping it there. His eyes are still closed. I say nothing, and neither does he. Not for a long while. The clock on the wall ticks, and I daren't breathe, daren't say a word lest it ruins it. 

 

"... I don't... know how to do this..."

 

Sebastian speaks at last, and his voice is hoarse, just a quiet whisper in the darkness. 

 

Do what? I want to ask him, but I don't. I don't say anything. I just let my hand rest against the warm skin of his cheek - and when he opens his eyes, they're earnest and hurting on mine. 

 

"...Sebastian..." I begin, but then he's pulling me down against him, soft and gentle. His eyes are tortured. Torn. His hand slips to the side of my neck, just holding me there, and I rest my forehead against his, closing his eyes. He doesn't know what to do. He can't bring himself to love me. Not after what I've done.   
  
"...You killed my father." He says so quietly, it's almost a whisper. 

 

"Yes." I reply, because what else can I say? He just shakes his head infinitesimally, eyes closed and his expression pained. I'm still, laying on top of him, his hand resting on my neck and our foreheads pressed together. The lights from the London skyline are all that illuminate the angles of Sebastian's face. I don't dare to move. I don't want to break the spell, send him back into loathing me.  
  
"...Why did it have to be you?" He asks me, or asks himself, I'm not sure. The words hurt nonetheless, such an agonised whisper that I pull away, guilt lashing at my chest.   
  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry.." I try, but Sebastian pulls me back, and then his hands are on my cheeks, eyes on mine, and why, I ask myself, why is this happening at two in the morning? 

 

"I can't let you go." Sebastian says, holding my face in his hands, and his eyes shine, his teeth gritted. "I just.. I can't just.. fucking let you go-"  
  


He's angry at himself, and I hate it, looking away, though he holds my face there, gentle and warm. He wants me gone so badly. He doesn't want any of this.

 

"...He was rogue." I say at last, my gaze finding Sebastian's, almost pleading. "He was rogue, Sebastian. He was working for my rival. He had a gun pointed at my head."

 

Sebastian looks away, that pain still in his expression. But no shock. No surprise. He knows all this. Elaine must have forced him to listen. 

 

"I respected him." I go on, my own hands finding Sebastian's own on my cheeks, squeezing his fingers and trying to make him look at me. "I offered him a job. Did you know that? He'd come after me alone. And I said, come and work for me. And he drew the gun. Told me that he already had a boss. And he wasn't talking about his sergeant."

 

Sebastian says nothing, still forcing himself not to look at me, and I'm straddling him, holding his hands, trying to make him see. To understand. 

 

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. If I could go back-"

 

"He would have killed you." Sebastian says, but the words are gruff again. Resentful. He can't hold my gaze.

 

"...  Maybe. But if it'd take away this pain..."

 

Sebastian shakes his head, and I so desperately want him to come back again; the soft, sweet Sebastian that was here a moment ago. That I let myself feel at home with, only a week ago. 

 

"...Please, Sebastian... I just... want.."

 

"Want what?" He asks me, and the words are quietly bitter. He looks back at me at last, and the look in his eyes hurts my chest. 

 

"...You."  I close my eyes, ashamed. "I love you."

 

_You're just embarrassing yourself._

_But I know it's true._

"...Jim."

 

"I know I'm a killer." I say, and the words are hasty, desperate. "I know you want nothing to do with me, and you've got every right. But you can't leave me alone. I know you can't. And I don't want you to."

 

"My father-" He begins, and I swallow.

 

"...Was like me. He knew... he knew what he was risking, coming after me. He was one of us, Sebastian. Please, I -"

 

"I'm a killer."  The words are quiet. "...I've killed people, too. Fathers. Brothers. Sons."

 

"...You just weren't unlucky enough to fall for one of their relatives."

 

"... No. I had to fall for you, instead."

 

We fall into silence, those words ringing in my ears. Fell for me. Sebastian fell for me. As much as he might resent what I've done... 

 

_He loves me._

_He doesn't want to. But he does._

 

I look at him as it clicks together in my mind, but he doesn't give me chance to say anything. That hand on my neck pulls me closer, and then he's kissing me again - against both of our better judgement. It's hot and needy, my fingers twining into his hair, his tongue pushing into my mouth as I roll my hips down hard against him, and then his hand is in my pants, and I'm moaning into his mouth.

_He loves me._

 

\--

 

 


	29. The Happy

When I wake up, there's a moment when I'm not sure where I am.

 

The room is light, a skyline to my left, and there's a warm arm around my middle, a warm, firm body against my back. I blink myself awake, and realise that I'm on the sofa. Or more specifically - that I'm naked on Sebastian's sofa, in front of the mid morning London skyline, the two of us cramped together. The sun shines in on us, and I rather hope that it hasn't gone twelve - I have a scene after lunch.

 

I realise with something akin to a flutter that I've suddenly decided to go back to set. 

 

Perhaps, it's something to do with furiously riding my co-star at two in the morning, the two of us kissing fervently on this very sofa, having confessed to missing one another. To needing one another. My cheeks flush at the hazed memory; me, crying out Sebastian's name, him, cursing and groaning, the slapping sound of skin on skin breaking the silence of the early morning. Falling asleep, naked in one another's arms, without a real resolution.

 

_Am I forgiven? Are we okay? Can we get past it?_

_Is this... a one off? Break up sex...?_

It's not an answer, as such, but as I lay there, watching the London skyline, I can feel Sebastian's length gradually swell, until he's prodding me in the back. I bite my lip. He must be awake. I turn in his arms, expecting to see regret in his eyes... But I find mischief, and lust instead, mingled with sheepishness. 

 

I suppose we can talk about it later.

 

I dip my head, and kiss him, slow and languorous, and he returns it just as enthusiastically, letting his tongue push mine aside. His hand slides down lazily, between my thighs, and then he's running teasing fingertips over my entrance, and smiling at my gasp into his mouth.

 

_You were so agonized last night. You've been off with me for days. Can this really last?_

 

The lube cap pops, and then his fingers slide back into place, and I moan, closing my eyes, still sore from last night. He works me open gently, patiently, his tongue coaxing mine to life, and by the time I'm rocking down on his fingers, breathy and needy, I've totally forgotten what I was worried about. Only this matters, right now. Sebastian's body against mine, inside mine... any of the details can be worked out later.

 

I turn in his arms at his whispered command, and we both lay spooning, his hand slipping between my thighs to prop up one leg. He presses inside slowly, and his skin is hot against mine, beautifully warm as he slides home, that burning ache delicious enough that I forget what was bothering me. His arm wraps firmly around my middle again, and I stutter a moan when his mouth finds my neck, sucking bites into the skin as he fucks me, slow, slick and steady.

 

"Fuck, Jim..."  He murmurs, breathy, by my ear, and I shiver, moving with him as heat curls low in my stomach. "I love you."

 

My chest feels light again, and I remember us uttering that last night, over and over - though of course, that doesn't mean it's true. Maybe after the heat of the moment has died down, the adrenaline, he'll realise again that he wants nothing to do with me. 

 

_Just enjoy it while it lasts._

 

"I love you.." I manage in return, just as breathless, my eyes fluttering closed and one hand reaching behind me, finding his hair and keeping that talented mouth at my neck. "...Sebastian... I love you...-"

_I'll say it a thousand times. I mean it. I don't know how it's happened, but it's true._

_I love him._

 

The London skyline begins to waver as we rock together harder, faster, until we're both covered with a thin sheen of sweat, until the sofa threatens to topple over and catapult the two of us onto the floor. Until our moans mingle in the air, breathy and desperate, and that coil in my stomach is tightening, tightening...  
  
"Come for me." He murmurs by my ear, his hand giving me a languorous stroke - and to Moriarty's chagrin, I follow the order, spilling over his fingers with a low curse, and rolling my hips into him, whiting out into bliss. He follows only a few moments later, a few hard ruts of his hips before he's emptying himself inside me, biting into my shoulder with a strangled groan of his own.

 

We come down together. Breathy, hearts racing, I turn in his arms when he's slid free, and pepper clumsy kisses to his lips. 

 

"...You mean it?" I ask eventually, heart still thudding erratically. I'm almost scared to ask. Scared of rejection. Moriarty scoffs in my head. "...You love me?"

 

"...I mean it."  
  
"Even though I..."

 

"It wasn't your fault." He presses his lips to my forehead, resigned at last. "I knew that... somewhere."

 

I take a moment. That's not all. I know it isn't.

 

"I'm a killer." I tell him, quiet and uncertain. How can he live with that? How can he want to be with me, like that?

 

Sebastian just smiles wryly, almost sadly, and threads his fingers with mine. 

 

"...British Army, Jim. So am I."

 

\--

 

"...What changed your mind?"

 

I ask Sebastian a little bit later, when we're both showered and half dressed, sitting in the lounge and eating toasted bagels with strong coffee. The memory of his indifference, of his ignoring me, still smarts and he leans over, kisses me on the cheek. I sit cross legged, plate in my lap.   
  
"...I realised in the scene yesterday that the feelings were there. Stronger than I thought they were."

 

"...But?"

 

"...But I wasn't sure I could do it. Get over... what happened. No matter what my mum said."

 

I smile a little sadly. "...She came to see me, you know. That night. When she brought Rex to me. She told me it wasn't my fault."

 

Sebastian sighs, rubs a hand over his face. "...She was right. But still.."

 

I nod. I can understand. It hadn't felt right. It makes sense.   
  
"...So.. when?"

 

"When I opened that door, and saw Craig on top of you. Saw him trying to.."

 

I look away quickly, cringing at that awful, nausea-inducing memory. What could have happened. Sebastian tails off politely, and squeezes my hand. 

 

"I wanted to tear him limb from limb." He explains, soft. "...Anyone would be angry. Any of the others - Geraldine, Lisa... they'd be furious. But I was... I was..."

 

"You wanted to kill him?"

 

"...I'm lucky that I didn't. I hit him pretty hard with that extinguisher."

 

"He could be dead." I say, the thought hitting me for the first time. We don't know what could have happened by the time the paramedics got there. Craig. Dead. I'm expecting to feel that same panic - the panic of having lost my connection to the film industry, my way in..

 

But I find only relief in my chest. Sebastian must see it on my face, because he leans over and kisses me hard, and I taste the coffee on his lips. 

 

When he pulls away, I'm a touch breathless.

 

"...Even.. when we got back here. You were still trying to ignore me."

 

"Trying' being the operative word." He says ruefully, and I tilt my head at him.

 

"...I could still go. Be easier for you..."

 

He just gives me a look. "Bit late for that, now."

 

"Not really. Could be break up sex.."

 

"Jim."

 

I stretch, make to stand up and set down my coffee mug. I'm only halfway serious, really.  
  
"I mean it. If it's really that hard for you to be around -"

 

Sebastian just reaches for my hand.  
  
"I love you."

 

The words manage to pull me up short, and I pause with his hand in mine, half smile on my lips. This is the first time he's said it, without being inside me. He looks exasperated, his cheeks tinged pink. I say nothing, and after a while, he goes on, resigned.

 

"I don't know what it is. I'm just... you're... I..."  He closes his eyes for a moment. "What happened with my Dad was... not ideal. Yeah. It'll take me a while to get past it. But I do. I don't know when it happened, but I'm fucking... you've... got me."

 

I laugh, sarcastic, though my own cheeks are pink and my chest feels light. "...You make it sound so romantic."

 

Throwing myself back down onto the sofa, I lean against him. He rests his chin on my shoulder.

 

"You're... just... every time I kiss you, put my hands on you, you look at me like I've given you something amazing."

 

 _You have,_  I want to say. _I've never had that before. Any of it. Care. Love._

"Just give me time." He adds, and I nod, lean in and kiss him again, taking my time now. 

 

"...Sebastian?"

 

"Mm?"  
  
"...I can't really cry on cue."

 

"No. I know."

 

\--

 

I have to leave without him at around lunchtime, to make sure I can get to the set in time for my scene -but it's with a lightness in my chest that I head down in the lift, going over my scene in my head. Yesterday, I'd written off the film completely. Today, I'm back on board - and all it took was Sebastian Moran. 

 

_It's true what they say about fame being fickle._

 

"We've got a scene at three." Sebastian had said to me, leaning in the doorway in his jeans and jumper, exposing just the right amount of a toned chest, arms folded and pulling at the fabric. I let my gaze linger, and he must have noticed, smirking amusedly at me. 

 

"...What are you going to do for the next few hours, then?"

 

"Well," He'd answered, "I suppose I ought to call my mum and tell her I won't be staying in my old bed for another night."

 

"...That all you're going to tell her?" I'd asked lightly, fiddling with the bag strap on my shoulder, and he'd given a half smile, glancing away a little.  
  
"...For the moment, I think." He'd scratched idly at the back of his head. "I know it seems like she's fighting your corner, but..."

 

He'd tailed off, and I'd just nodded quickly, looking across at the lift.  
  
"She'll need time too." I'd said eventually, and he'd smiled gratefully, apologetically - but seemingly glad that I understood.

 

"Just to... make peace with the idea, maybe."  
  
"You don't need to say anything." I excused, holding up my hands. That grateful smile had returned, and Sebastian had leaned in to kiss me properly - long and lingering, a hand at my cheek. And then again.  And once more, for luck. It was as if we were making up for that week we'd missed. All those neglected kisses. 

 

"You're going to make me laaaate." I'd sung eventually, and he'd laughed and let me go - not without a last, butterfly inducing kiss for the road, with a wink as I walked to the lift. I'd rolled my eyes at him... But I don't think I've ever been that happy.

 

Arriving at the Essex set, that easy lightness is still in my chest, and I'm humming as I head towards the warehouse, bustling with activity as always. I don't notice the eyes on me, the strange looks and the whispers. I'm caught up in Sebastian and I. His love. His loving. It makes me fucking dotty. 

 

_Even after all you've done - all you are. He loves you._

_He knows M, and he still loves you._

 

"Jim."

 

Honsson's voice makes me jump, half into my costume in the changing room when it accompanies a sharp rap on the door.

 

"Yeah? Give me a sec, and I'll be out."  
  


"Right."

 

I'm expecting him to disappear, to have to go and find him when I come out, but to my surprise he's sitting in one of the costumier's chairs - and the costumiers themselves have all gone, no doubt disappearing at his command. I'm dressed in my full tunic ensemble for the day, lighter make-up already done. Honsson looks uncomfortable, and sheepish. I'm not entirely sure he's slept.

 

I'm not entirely sure that I've slept either, but for completely different and much more pleasant reasons.

 

"...Everything alright, John?"

 

"He's not coming back."

 

It's his tentative, apologetic tone that stops me from asking 'who?'. Of course. I purse my lips flat, and fold my arms over my chest, that happiness ebbing just a touch. Of course Honsson knows about last night. I was there while Sebastian called him, effing and blinding over the phone. I take it this doesn't mean he's dead, unless 'he's not coming back' is just a very very mild way to put it. 

 

"Right. Good."  
  
"Sebastian told me what happened. And so did the paramedics. I've called the insurance company."

 

I'm not entirely sure why he's telling me that, but I nod anyway, fiddling nonchalantly with the scarf of my costume as if none of this is of any consequence to me. 

 

"...Right."

 

"And if you need time off, it's completely within the budget to allow -"  
  
"Time off?" I interrupt, confused. "Why would I want time off?"

 

Honsson frowns at me. He's a little red in the face; and I realise that the look I'd been trying to identify there is guilt. 

 

Of course it is; I think. He was trying to talk me into staying with Craig. He sent me home with him, after the pit fall in Addington. 

 

"...You've been through a traumatic assault. And a... and an abusive relationship, if Sebastian is to be believed."

 

A beat passes between us, and I swallow. "He is. To be believed."  Though I'd never have called it that. More an... uncomfortable arrangement. 

 

"Then I propose two to three -"  
  
"I don't want a break, John."

 

".... You don't?"  He looks both cautious and dubious. 

 

"Nope."  I find David's shoes, toe them on. I don't look at him, my voice matter of fact. "It's much better for me to carry on. Not dwelling on it, you know."  
  
"...Right."  More dubiousness. Perhaps he's been ordered to do this by the insurance company. I straighten, shoes fastened.

 

"Is he dead?" 

 

My question is blunt, but I need to know. Honsson watches me for a moment.  
  
"...No. No, he's not dead."

 

"In hospital?"

 

"He was released with concussion." A beat, and then he's hurrying to reassure me. "But he's banned from coming anywhere near the set. He won't get within a hundred yards of you, Jim, I swear it -"  
  
"I believe you." I say simply. Perhaps it's the lightness in my chest, the sweet evening of Sebastian's forgiveness, his hands on me, that make it so easy to forgive Honsson's blindness. Whatever it is - it shuts him up. Though it only takes a moment for that guilt to take over his expression completely. The director's face crumples.

 

"I'm so sorry, James. I'm so, so sorry."

 

"John -"

 

"You should have come to me. You should have said something. I made you feel like -"  
  
"Look." I hold up my hands, exasperated, wanting this to stop now. It's over. It's really over. "You've banned him from the set. You can't do anything else. I feel much safer."

 

The promise seems to relieve him a touch, but he frowns again, adding;

 

"...The police will want to speak to you and Sebastian both about what happened. About pressing charges for the assault. Repeated assaults."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"You're not...?"  
  
"Pressing charges."

 

A bewildered pause, and then Honsson is confused again. "...Why wouldn't you?"

 

_Because I can't get involved with the law._

 

"I'm just not."  I shrug, simple. "It's not worth the hassle."  
  
"Not worth the...-?"  Honsson seems almost angry at my flippancy at that, and I head out before he can try and talk me into it. I really don't have a better excuse. 

 

"I'll see you on set, shall I?"  
  
"Jim! How can you possibly -"

 

"Thanks for the chat."

 

\--

 

My scene is a solo one this time. David sits in his marital home alone, looking around at the various nicknacks he and Marion have collected together. A painting of them both. He's contemplating his life with her, after categorically telling Chester that he can't possibly leave her. The scene should be an easy one, really. No interactions, just David being morose. Honsson's camera settles on me, and I realise quickly that it's going to be harder than I first thought. I have to act as though each item evokes a memory - and it has to flicker across my face, everything I'm considering giving up. I wonder if the crew have already filmed the cutaways to each item, to edit together with my agonised looks later. It seems like something that would have been prepared beforehand.  
  
"I want you to stand when you look at the music box, and walk over to it. Turn it in your hands."

 

Honsson tells me from his chair, still looking cautious about me being here at all.  
  
"Got it."

 

I confirm, Bev touching up my make-up where I sit in the armchair. I'll have to change costume after this for my scene with Sebastian. The thought of seeing him again soon puts a smile on my face, and Bev swats at me to relax. I laugh, leaning back. Happy. I'm just... happy. Somehow, it's all worked out. Even with what I am. What I've done.

 

Bev scurries off at last, and I straighten where I sit, trying to get into 'David' mode. The lights go down, as Honsson's hands  go up.  
  
"And... ACTION."

 

\--

 

It only takes us three or four takes to get everything Honsson needs, and immediately I'm suspicious, narrowing my eyes at the director the moment he calls cut. He avoids my eye, busying himself with checking out the frames and the shots we just got, and I shake my head, my thoughts confirmed - he's holding back, treating me like an invalid. I sigh, standing and straightening my costume and then heading off towards the green room. Alex greets me with a nod, and I head inside. I suppose it's better being handled carefully than being sent home. I would have gone stir crazy being off for another week - though, perhaps if I had Sebastian with me, we could find a way to fill the time...

 

I load up my plate with a smile, helping myself to a late lunch and then slip my phone out of my pocket, taking the opportunity to handle a few emails before my Chester arrives in around half an hour.

 

Donald is in the next scene with us, and he heads in after about ten minutes, stealing a cocktail sausage from my plate before he heads to the back to grab a plateful himself.

 

"How have you been, Jim? Settling back in alright?"  
  
"Yeah, thank you. Feels like I never left."  
  
"Bet you missed it."

 

"Couldn't wait to come back." I muse, remembering that week alone with Rex, huddled on the sofa. Hating myself, what I used to be, what I'd done. I let myself think about this morning instead. Sebastian's 'I love you'.

 

He still needs time. But that's alright. I have plenty of time to give. 

 

"Big scene today." Donald sings, and I smile, setting my phone down and picking up my script instead. The business can wait. It's no longer the most important thing, even if I have... picked it up, again. I flick to the scene, and run my finger down the page until I find my lines, raising my eyebrows.

 

"Oh yeah. Big confrontation."

 

"I think Lisa gets to slap Sebastian," Donald laughs, "She's quite excited."

 

"Lets hope it doesn't need too many takes." I muse, opening my contacts list to text Sebastian and remind him - before realising that, of course, I don't have his number. It's a bizarre realisation, but of course the phone was given to me by Viana - the only numbers I have are for her and Mansfield. I get up, heading over to the bin with my plate.

 

"I'll see you on set, alright?"  
  
"Yeah. I think Lisa's just got here, I can bloody hear her already."

 

I laugh - and sure enough, I can hear her chatting away down the hall in make-up, even from where I'm standing by the door. Donald and I share a grin, and then I head out with my phone as he sits down, back into the warehouse. I'm looking for Eleanor, concentrating on trying to spot her - I know she'll have Sebastian's number, because she's the one that always rings with details of his pick ups. I catch sight of her at last, standing on the edge of my next set, as the set dressers recreate Chester's living room, ornate claw footed sofa, expensive wallpaper and all.

 

"Eleanor," I call, and she turns, looking somewhat relieved to see me. She's holding her phone to her ear, and I frown amusedly as she flaps a hand at me, ending the call.   
  
"Right. You can help. You're still close with Sebastian, aren't you?"  
  
"I was just going to ask you about that actually. I need -"  
  
"Can you call him for me?" She asks me, interrupting me and checking her watch. My frown deepens. 

 

"I was going to ask you for his number. He's not picking up?"  
  
"No. And he's missed his car."

 

I blink at her. "...Was it confirmed?"  
  
"I sent him the confirmation time last night, as always."  
  
"Is the phone going straight to voicemail?"  I ask, wondering if he might have let the battery run out. Missed the driver's call. Maybe he's fallen asleep.  
  
"No. It just rings out. Rings and rings." She finds his number impatiently, holds the phone out for me to copy it into my own. "Could you call him for me?"

 

She thinks he's ignoring her, perhaps reluctant to come to set. Playing the diva. But we were talking about it this morning. I said I'd see him later.

 

Something about this doesn't seem right.

 

Obediently, I tap the number into the phone and then hold it to my ear. I look away from Eleanor as it rings, watching the dressers hang paintings and candles on the fake set wall. There's a kind of urgent, yet patient silence in my chest. I'm waiting for Sebastian to answer the phone, to hear his voice, amused and sleepy - his curses when he realises that he's missed his car. 

 

But it keeps ringing. And ringing, and ringing, until Eleanor walks away from me with an exasperated sigh, dialling again on her own phone. 

 

I hang up and try again. Nothing.

 

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he really has just fallen asleep, gone back to bed exhausted after our early morning session, and left his phone in the living room.

 

Maybe. 

 

But it can't hurt to... make sure.

 

_You're getting paranoid, M._

 

I turn away from the set to call Viana - and she answers on the first ring, almost breathless with urgency. I never ring - not without discussing beforehand.  
  
"Boss?"

 

"My South bank address. I want someone there within the next ten minutes. I want them to go up to the - to  _my_  penthouse - pick the lock, don't break anything."  
  
"Got it. Then what? What are we after?"

 

"Don't touch anything, or anyone. Just... tell me what the situation is. Be discreet."

 

"The situation?" She sounds confused."...Has something happened, boss?"  
  
"Are you questioning me, Viana?" My voice is cool, and she immediately backtracks.

 

"Of course not. I'll send someone right now."

 

"Thank you."

 

\--

I'm being silly. Of course it's all fine.

 

He's in bed, fast asleep. Where else would he be?

 

I sit down in Honsson's seat at the edge of the set to wait, the director busy talking to Lisa, who's just arrived and is asking him questions about the scene. Donald pads out of the green room after a while in his costume, a cardboard cup of coffee in his hand. He smiles in my direction, but I don't return it properly. There's something uneasy in my stomach, as much as I'm trying to ignore it. I've never known Sebastian to be late to a scene. We're already running a few minutes late now, though nobody seems to have noticed except flustered Eleanor, who paces with her phone held to her ear. 

 

Maybe he's gone out, I reason with myself, completely lost track of time or something. But the uneasiness has deepened in my stomach, Moriarty jeering at me from inside.

_You were too happy. You had a few hours of being too happy._

 

But I can't help but think of Craig. His hands wrapped around Sebastian's throat, Sebastian kicking, thrashing, struggling for breath. His limbs stilling as the fight dies in his eyes. My chest feels tight. 

 

When Viana finally rings, the buzz of my phone makes me jump, and I don't answer immediately, standing to head for the door first. I almost slam straight into Eleanor, who's still pacing, and she grabs my shoulders, seeing that my phone's ringing. I manage to pull out of her grasp, saying something about talking to her in a minute. I bring the phone to my ear as I reach the double doors, voice nonchalant, despite the tension in my chest.

 

_You're being stupid. He's fine. She's going to tell you that he's still in bed._

 

"Viana, talk to me."

 

"...Sir..."  
  
"What?" My voice is sharp. She's holding back.

 

"...It's been ransacked. "

 

"Ransacked." I repeat numbly, something cold turning in my stomach.

 

Viana explains, as if I'm unsure of the meaning of the word. 

 

"Stuff everywhere, thrown all over the place. There's a smashed window."

 

My pulse beats in my ears, and my fingers tighten on the phone. My mouth is suddenly impossibly dry, and I can't say anything for a moment. There's a roaring in my ears.

 

Viana has to prompt me.   
  
"Boss? ...Has someone found you? Do you need a safe house?"

 

Moriarty has to take over for once, because I'm knocked for six. My stomach churns.

 

_He's fine. He's fine. He's fine._

 

"Who was there?"

 

"What?" She sounds confused. No wonder... she thinks its my place. I snap the words back at her, urgent.  
  
"Who was in the flat? Anyone left? Bodies?"

 

"... No sir. Nobody left."

 

I close my eyes, and grip the phone tightly in my fingers.

 

_Not him._

 

\--

 


	30. The Suit

The moment I hang up the phone, I'm pacing to one of the cars idling by the warehouse doors, any thought of today's filming forgotten. I'm surprising myself by how calm I feel, by how my business mind has taken over, though deep down inside there's an undercurrent of panic pushed back, hidden away behind a wall. I can't afford for that to take over, right now. I need to act; urgently and efficiently. 

 

I climb into the car and slam the door behind me, and give them the Westminster address. The driver is just pulling away when he swerves to a halt with a curse - and my door is pulled open, Honsson looking at me, flabbergasted. Eleanor follows after him.

 

"Where on Earth are you going?"

 

"Close the door, Honsson."

 

"We're behind schedule -"

 

"Sebastian's sick. We're not filming today." I say bluntly, and he frowns at me, eyebrows pulling together in his confusion.  
  
"Is this about -"  
  
"It's not about anything. He's sick." The lie slips easily from my lips, and Eleanor watches me closely, pursing her lips. Honsson looks exasperated.

 

"You're running off, Sebastian's sick and Donald's disappeared with Lisa. Is nobody still working on this bloody film?"

 

I say nothing, lips pursed, my hand on my door impatiently waiting to pull it shut. At long last, he moves back with a sigh, gesturing to Eleanor. 

 

"...Reschedule, then."

 

I slam the door, and the driver pulls away. I watch them in the rear view mirror as we drive away from the set, a hand resting at my lips and my mind whirring.

 

Why him? Why did it have to be him? We've only just found this. Whatever this is.

 

He's been through so much pain already.

 

_Ransacked. No sir. Nobody there._

Did he struggle? Is he hurt?

 

If anyone has dared lay a finger on him... 

 

Moriarty stirs in my chest. He's coming back.

 

_\--_

The car pulls up at an intimidatingly large and glass fronted building in Westminster, and I find myself sitting still for a moment, just looking up at it, not wanting to get out. At last, the driver politely clears his throat, and I force myself to climb out onto the pavement, before straightening, and looking up at it some more. I'm still wearing my costume. That urgency still makes my heart thud in my chest, and yet I can't bring myself to walk through those double doors.

 

I own this place. 

 

I've owned it for a year or so, now. And yet I've never been inside.

 

It's a base for my men; Viana and Mansfield rule the top floor between them, the bosses for all intents and purposes. Always intended as the faceless boss, I've never set a foot inside the place, always preferring to make my calls from hotels or on the move. I'm sure it's been identified as mine, despite my attempts to keep it off the map. The cover story is a banking company, and there are even a few floors set up with logos and banking offices lest the tax man ever try and inspect. The men have been briefed on what to do in such a situation; sit pretty, use the computers, and talk about figures. But whatever the cover, it's not safe for me to be there. Not on a regular basis. It's not safe for me to be anywhere on a regular basis.

 

_This was why I wanted to get away. Improve my life expectancy._

_And now I've dragged Sebastian down with me._

At last, I step through the double doors. The two men standing armed by the reception desk eye me dubiously - period costume and all - and I suddenly worry that they'll stop me from going upstairs, not recognising me as their boss. Indeed, they take a step forward, one of them smirking at my appearance - before suddenly each holding a hand to their left ear, obviously to some kind of earpiece. To my amusement, they both stand down, looking rather confused, and I'm able to pace past into the lifts, and hit the button for the top floor. Viana and Mansfield have eyes on me, then. 

 

I take my phone out while in the lift, anxiously checking for calls - perhaps Sebastian has miraculously got my number, perhaps whoever has him is going to ask for a ransom. I'd pay it. I'd pay any amount. 

 

The vision pops into my head. Sebastian, weak and injured, bound and struggling, bleeding out... I have to screw my eyes shut, lean back against the lift wall and grit my teeth to try and force back that panic. I can't let it take over now. I can't think about him, about his hands on me, his sweet words - if I think about him, then I can't help him. If I let myself crumble, then I'll be no use to anyone.

 

The lift pings to announce my arrival, and I step into a plush carpeted suite, huge and glassfronted, looking out over the Thames. Viana stands up at a desk at one end, but Mansfield's desk beside her remains empty. She hurries over to me, and then hesitates, seemingly both determined and unsure how to proceed with me here. 

 

"Viana."

 

"...What do you want me to do?" She says at last, and I shake my head, that despair overwhelming me all at once.

 

"Whoever it is, they've got someone I..."

 

My voice tails off, and my heart has begun to race, my mind whirring, those panicked images all coming at once.

 

_Sebastian pleading for his life._

_Sebastian, chunks of his body being carved away._

_Sebastian, his bones being broken one by one, all to get to me._

_Sebastian, buried alive._

_Sebastian, blinded by acid. Choked by sand._

 

I've seen all of these methods used before. Seen people tortured just to get information.

 

"Sir!"

 

I'm dazed with horror; maybe it's suddenly being here, being forced into Moriarty territory, but everything slams into me at once, juxtaposed with memories of Sebastian and I; kissing, laughing on set, laying together this morning. Sitting together in his lounge with Rex between us, his mother serving us sandwiches... 

 

Viana grabs my hand, and forcibly unclenches my fingers. My nails have dug hard into my skin, and my palm is beginning to bleed. I pull out of her grasp, a reflex, staggering back - and she stands, just watching me warily. 

 

"Who do they have, sir?"

 

She speaks patiently, calmly. My wild eyes must speak for themselves.  
  
"Sebastian Moran. My costar."

 

She frowns, walks back to the desk. "...I'm going to ask the boys to pull up the CCTV from the apartment block. Can I get you anything?"

 

I just turn away, and stand by the window. I try and force myself to breathe. 

 

_Put the pain away. Put away the rage, the fear._

_You've done this before. Find the special place._

 

Sebastian, strung up and screaming. Yelling my name. Pleading for help, for his life.

 

Sebastian, dead eyed and hollow. Living, but not alive. 

 

_Put it away._

Sebastian, his hand in mine. I love you. 

 

Sebastian in the bar, long fingers drawing circles on the table.

 

Sebastian, tied down. Without fingers.

 

_Push it back._

 

Sebastian, punching Craig in the face for what he'd done.

 

Sebastian, half carrying me, blanket wrapped, to his car.

 

Sebastian, on set, that kiss soft and sweet. My tears.

 

Sebastian, his beautiful blue eyes cut off at the optic nerve. Stumbling blindly in the darkness.

 

_Find the place._

 

I brace a hand on the window. Nausea curls in my stomach, my heart pounding fast enough to make me dizzy. The glass against my fingertips is cold, and fogs with my quickened breaths. 

 

_I've got you, Jim. You're safe now. He won't touch you again._

 

My eyes slip shut, and for now, the lid locks on those emotions. Fear, pain, worry. 

 

All that's left is rage. Cold, calculating rage.

 

Moriarty stretches, languorous like a cat, and flexes his fingers with a crack of knuckles. Dark eyes shine, and something hot and maddeningly vengeful settles in my chest. 

 

_Nobody touches my property._

 

"A suit." I answer Viana at last, and my voice is flat. Calm. "Get me a suit."

 

\--

 

The jacket is lined with black velvet, the shirt crisp and white and perfectly my size. The tie, emblazoned with tiny skulls, nestles around my collar, as well fitted as the black trousers that skim my expensive leather shoes. Everything is new, perfectly suited to my body, as if it was made for me. Most likely, it has been. How long has it been since Viana arrived in the apartment unannounced? A week? Long enough to get my sizes, to guess at my measurements and send them off to a tailor. There was almost a sheepish quality to the way she presented the outfit to me; as if it had been waiting. Expected, that I would return. 

 

I've never even told her that I wear suits. 

 

I comb my hair back in the mirror, examining black eyes, gaunt and malicious at the same time. I barely recognise myself this way - I've come to be used to the Jim that lounges around, covered in bruises from another man's fists, wearing jeans and t shirts. But right now, I can't afford to be him. I take another breath, and force that vindictive part of my personality forwards. Keep the box of my emotions locked away, for now.

 

I have to.

 

Viana is frantically scouring the CCTV, trying to find whatever we have on the apartments while I dress. Our archives are extensive; we can access anything held by the police or the government, thanks to my moles - and the hard work of my two executives. I'm just emerging from the back room, dressed in what is for all intents and purposes, a costume, when she calls out.

 

"Got it!"

 

I head over to where she's leaning over the computer screen at the desk, concentratedly poring over the footage. It's grainy, black and white - a government issue camera then, street watch. It's focused on the doors of the apartment block, for once - just our fucking luck - not swarming with paparazzi. It's deserted; the timestamp in the corner marks it as 12:49. Probably about forty minutes before Sebastian's car was due to collect him. Viana's eyes flick up to me, and then she presses play. The shots are jagged - it jumps a couple of seconds at a time, silent and greyscale. 

 

I shift where I stand, watching the footage with my lips pursed together intently. This could be the clue to Sebastian's rescue.

 

_Or avenging his murder._

 

Moriarty slams the lid back on that box, and I force myself to focus. 

 

The front doors of the apartment block are thrown open. Jump. 

 

Four men holding something between them appear on the path. They're fuzzy. The object is long, takes four of them to hold. Almost like pallbearers. Jump. 

 

A car appears as if from nowhere. Jump. 

 

The men load the object inside. Jump. 

 

It's gone. 

 

It's happened before the clock has even hit 12:50. Impossibly fast. I can feel Viana's eyes on me, resignation mixing with fury in my chest.  
  
I lean back, straighten my spine, fingers curling around the top of a chair as I grit my teeth. 

 

"...That was a professional job."  Viana notes at last, quiet. 

 

"Get your coat." I say, a flat order. I turn, fastening my cufflinks. "...We're going to the apartment."

 

\--

Viana sits beside me in silence as we're driven to the apartments. She shoots a look at me every now and then, and I make sure to keep my hands within view, making it clear that my collected calm isn't going to lapse again. I regret letting her see that. 

 

I concentrate hard on the skyline as it zips past the window, on London streets; buildings and buses, and bustling commuters. I don't let myself think about him. About what he might be feeling, where he might be... How much of him is left. These things move very quickly, I know that. Whoever has him might not want to wait, if it's information they want. 

 

_You're just..._ _every time I kiss you, put my hands on you, you look at me like I've given you something amazing._

 

I screw my eyes shut. Moriarty roars in my chest, tries to slam the lid back on the box of my emotions, but even he isn't immune to Sebastian Moran. 

 

"How's Mansfield getting on with Burch's men?" I ask at last, the words strained. Trying to distract myself.  
  


"I've text him about the new development. Last I heard, he was getting close to a breakthrough."  
  
"How many has he killed so far?"  
  
"About eleven, I think."

 

I nod, eyes on the clouds. Suppose it's a revenge mission? You take my men, I take yours? 

 

My initial feeling that it was Craig has now died; a faint hope remaining until I saw that CCTV. Viana is right. This is professionally orchestrated. 

 

It may not even be Burch. It may be one of the others; Connolly, Adamson, Neseguer. It could be someone new, looking to establish themself as a boss. Any number of men, maybe even a group of them. Something akin to uneasy hopelessness settles in my chest. Suppose I'm already too late? Suppose we never find them? Suppose they've done this to break me?

 

They won't succeed, snarls Moriarty from deep in my chest, but I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on the window.

 

_I'm not so sure._

 

We pull up outside the apartment block, and again, the paparazzi are absent - just a trail of cigarette butts and empty cardboard coffee cups alerting me to their continued presence here. Perhaps something big has happened, elsewhere. Perhaps they've got hold of the shooting schedule, and are waiting for us at set instead. 

 

The driver turns around when we arrive, looking to Viana for more instructions - his boss, as far as she knows. She just gives him a discreet nod, and he turns back to face the front. We climb out. Head towards the block.

 

It looks the same. Identical to when I left it this morning, except of course, it's totally different now. The car idles on the curb, and Viana gets out after me - though I'm struck by a sudden urgency, and pace into the lobby. I hit the button for the lift, but it's near the top floor, and so instead, I start running full pelt up the stairs, suit and all.

 

"Boss!"

 

_What if they were wrong? What if that wasn't him, on the camera? What if he's still here?_

_What if he's just sitting on the sofa with that daft smile, waiting for me?_

_What if he's hurt, bleeding out on the bathroom tiles? Did they check the bathroom? I bet they didn't check the bathroom._

 

"Boss, wait -"

 

I get to the fourth floor before the lift catches me up, and I head inside, breathless, Viana still clambering up the stairs after me. The doors close before she can reach me, and I lean back against the interior, straightening my suit and trying to catch my breath, that panic still blurring my Moriarty calm around the edges. No matter how much I try and control myself, the idea of a countdown... of Sebastian being minutes, seconds away from death... it makes me feel sick. 

 

After all that's happened... I'm not sure I can do this without him.

 

I had the opportunity of another life. The film, the flat, his forgiveness. I don't want any of it, alone. 

_Put it away._

 

The lift pings, the doors opening on the top floor, and it strikes me all at once how very far away from the rest of the world it is, up here. 

 

I know Viana is running up the stairs, but I can't hear a thing. I can't hear the traffic, can't hear the noises of London - only my own breathing, my pounding heart, a roaring in my ears as I approach the door. It's ajar, ever so slightly, and unease curdles in my stomach. I gingerly press it open with a hand, and then step inside, my lips pressed flat together. 

 

_View it logically. Clinically._

 

A smashed window. The sofa cushions have been pulled from the sofa, one torn down the middle, its fluffy innards spread over the wooden floors. Jars and mugs have been smashed in the kitchen, and sugar spills from the counter onto the floor. The coffee table has slumped down onto one side, a leg missing, and Sebastian's hoodie lays abandoned in the middle of the room. The smashed glass gives the impression of a spider's web, spreading over the window and concealing the beautiful view. Wind whistles through the apartment, making it cold, broken glass littering the floor in tiny shards. 

 

I step closer. That box threatens to burst open in my chest, explode my emotions over the scene before me. Only this morning, I can see where we were sitting. In fact, our coffee mugs are still in the sink, crumbed plates from the bagels. 

 

This is a crime scene, Moriarty reminds me crisply, keeping a lid on those emotions, and I swallow hard, walking further into the room.

_No. This was home._

I edge closer to the bathroom, trying to force myself to be methodical, calm, but my heart fritters away in my chest as I open the door, expecting the worst.The white light flickers on, and there's nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, though my heart sinks a little at the realisation - I'd been hoping to find him. Hoping wildly, stupidly, that what I'd seen was wrong. 

 

Everything stands, perfect and pristine. Ordered towels, clean shower, regimented soaps in a line. I glance into the sink in passing - and then still, my chest lurching.

 

_Blood._

 

I reach down, running my fingers through it, smearing yellowed crimson over the ceramic. Something akin to bile rises in my throat, and inside, Moriarty seethes at me.

 

 _Calm. Methodical._  

It may not be his, I tell myself. He might have gotten in a hit or two. I have to tell myself that it isn't his, that the lifeless, body-shaped item wasn't him - because if I start to believe that, then I've got no chance. There's nothing in the world that can keep the lid on that box. Not even Moriarty.

 

A numb hand finds the light switch, and flicks it off again. I step back out into the ruined living room, and my eyes settle on one of Rex' toys, forgotten under the edge of the sofa. I'm struck suddenly by what Elaine will say. What she'll do. How those eyes, crinkled and blue, will look at me with reproach and loathing. 

 

You killed her husband, and now you've killed her son. 

 

_Put it away._

I walk fast to the bedroom, because the thoughts are threatening to break free, those emotions ready to strangle me, to panic me and render me completely incapable of helping Sebastian at all, if he's even able to be helped. I can hear Viana now, out in the hall, panting and gasping as she climbs the last few stairs. I push the bedroom door open, ready to be assaulted by a host of aching memories - Sebastian and I laying together in that bed. Rex looking after me night after night, curled up beside me, and Elaine tucking me shamefully into bed after my confession. I expect to be hit by the smell of Sebastian, the warmth of the lamp light and the sight of his clothes hanging ready on the wardrobe...

 

But the first thing that hits me is the heady, metallic smell of blood. 

 

A cautious hand fumbles for the light switch, and as my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, that roaring in my ears returns at the sight that befalls me. 

 

The bedroom is just as much of a mess as the living room. Ransacked, clothes torn and strewn about, the lamp smashed and a mirror crooked and cracked. But in the bed...

 

In the bed, the sheets are lumped around something long, something positioned in the middle of the mattress. They're crimson, the blood having seeped through from the man wrapped within them. I step closer, and my knees buckle - my eyes have settled on the top of the lump; the top of the wrapped duvet parcel, left just for me.

 

On the blonde hair.

 

\--

 


	31. The Body

It's as if the world stops turning. 

 

Even Moriarty pauses, his hands on that box of emotions, his resolve wavering for a moment. 

 

The body on the bed is still. Dead. The amount of blood lost, the pale feet visible from the other end of the blankets... that much is obvious enough. 

 

My weak knees buckle, and I grip onto the doorframe as I sink down to the floor, eyes fixed on the bed as bile rises in my throat. 

 

_No. No. No._

_I was going to rescue him. I was going to find him._

Something akin to a scream of grief bubbles in my chest, but when my lips part, no sound breaks free. Vaguely, I register Viana, breathless and urgent as she runs into the room, before stopping dead with a gasp when the sees the sight. The blood seeping drip by drip down the sheets and into the bedroom carpet, and pooling there, dark. That tuft of blonde hair, and pale toes. The shape of his body.

 

"...Oh... Boss.." She says, quietly, hopelessly, and turns back to me. She reaches towards me, as if she means to help me up, but I shake my head once, bleary eyes just fixed on that duvet. My hand grips the doorframe, white knuckled. Viana drops her hands, and then turns back to look at the bed, still breathing hard from her run up the stairs. She takes a step closer.   
  
"Don't touch him." I order, and my voice is raw. Quiet. Moriarty has been knocked for six. I feel sick. I'm going to be sick. 

 

For once, Viana ignores my command. She walks silently over to the body, and bends down beside it. Reaches in, as if she means to try and help - her hand hovers around the throat. Is she going to look for a pulse? When pints of his blood cover everything in sight? 

 

I'm watching her, heart in my mouth, still unable to move from where I've dropped, devastation incapacitating me so suddenly that I might as well be comatose. 

 

And then her eyes widen. An agonized scream builds in her throat, and then bursts free, and then she's scrabbling at the sheets, the tightly wrapped duvet, frenzied as blood soaks her skin to the wrists. Alarmed, I half pull myself up with the flickering of hope in my chest. 

 

_Alive? Is he alive? Sebastian?_

 

"Viana?" I manage, hoarse, and when she looks at me, her cheek is blood splattered, her eyes wild and wet, teeth gritted in maddening grief as I stagger over. My eyes are drawn to the body she now clutches in her hands. Parts of him, at least. He's been cut into pieces... his body put back together like a jigsaw. The skin has purpled and stiffened. I don't want to look. I don't want to look, but I can't help it, because he's there.  For a moment, I think that they've castrated him. Taken it all, in a last pit of humiliation even in death. Or perhaps while he was alive, and the thought puts more bile into my chest. But then suddenly, I realise what I'm looking at. A smooth arse; half of him facing me - the other half turned around, like a crudely put together mannequin. Smooth. 

 

But Sebastian has a scar.

 

I lunge for the body, wild hope in my chest, and my hands shakily turn that bloodied, ruined face to look at me.

 

Blonde hair.

 

The eyes are glazed in death. But the colour is immistakeable. Brown.

 

And suddenly I know who I'm looking at.

 

Viana's curdled scream fills the room again.

_Mansfield._

 

\--

 

I drop his face, and stagger back, Viana falling down to her knees by the bed and screaming, just screaming, the sound tailing off into a mournful whine. 

 

Terrible, awful relief fills my chest, and I stand numbly for a moment, in shock.

 

The blonde hair... the body wrapped in his bed... I'd just assumed...

 

"You... you said there was no one here. No body."  I manage after a moment, but it's as if Viana hasn't heard me, her body draped over his, that usual determined calm having deserted her as she wails. It's... it's grotesque. His blood is on her face, her hands, her clothes, her fingers numbly grasping at his cold ones - bloodied stubs at the end. 

 

_Tortured. He's been tortured. How long did they have him?_

 

"Viana." I prompt, trying to put a little more authority in my voice, though I'm shaken too, unable to draw my gaze from Mansfield's glassy stare. His lips are parted. There are teeth missing. Maybe... maybe part of his tongue, too. I swallow hard, noticing the little things now that he's unwrapped, beside the fact that his corpse has been chopped into bits. An ear is missing. A nipple, carved away with shallow pieces of his chest, no doubt while he was alive. The blankets manage to preserve his modesty, but he's naked, and I don't want to see what's left of his.... 

 

They always start there. For the humiliation.

_I have to find Sebastian, and quickly._

 

I pace over to Viana, turn her in my arms and shake her by the shoulders, firm. 

 

"Who did you send to scout out the place?"  
  
She doesn't seem to hear me, swaying this way and that with another moan. I shake her, and she manages a choked whine.

 

"Harrison. H'took a camera..."

 

So she'd seen the rooms as he'd seen them. And there'd been no one there. Which means that Mansfield has been planted here; planted for us to find. A message.

 

A message in Sebastian's bed.

 

_The same will happen to him._

 

I stand quickly, and pace out to the main room, leaving Viana where she is. I walk amongst the destruction, hands fisting in my hair, that panic threatening to burst free.

_Think. Think. Think._

_Who did this? Who wants to hurt you? Who has the resources to take him?_

 

I can't keep a clear head. Not with Viana still sobbing and screaming garbled iterations of Mansfield's name. The shock has knocked her for six. She must only have been speaking to him, what - yesterday? 

 

Everything about this screams 'Burch', but I can't afford to think that way. Suppose it was staged? Suppose that's exactly what they want me to think?

 

As I stand, I become aware of a muffled buzzing. I freeze, turning on the spot, trying to find the source. My eyes pan over the wreckage, heart still thudding, until I hurry over and climb onto the ruined sofa, forcing my arm down beside the mangled cushion. I have to push it right down into the metal springs of the sofa before my fingers finally curl around Sebastian's phone, and then I pull it free, breathless, and look at the display.

 

'MUM CALLING'.

 

Behind that, a notification for eighteen missed calls - all from Eleanor. I stand up again, straightening my suit, and plugging my free ear from the noise of Viana's wailing. 

 

_She's calling to tell you that he's arrived, that he's there with her. Safe._

_Why would she be calling her son's phone if he's there with her?_ Moriarty scoffs.

 

That hope sinks again, and I answer, pacing.

 

"Elaine?"

 

"James? Is that you?"  She sounds confused.

 

"It's me. Is he with you?" I'm trying my best not to sound as anxious as I feel. As panicked. I already know the answer. 

 

A pause from Elaine's end - suddenly wary.

 

"... What's happened?"

 

I avoid the question. "What do you need?"

 

"I got a funny voicemail... I thought I'd call..."

 

A voicemail could be a clue. My heart thuds.

 

I sit down on the sofa, running a hand over my jaw. 

 

"...Do you have another phone you could ring me from? Could you play it for me?"  
  
"It's not really... I mean... it's just a load of scuffling."

 

_He struggled._

 

"Right."

 

Stay calm. There's still time.

 

"...What's that noise?"

 

Elaine sounds anxious. Viana is still wailing, and I'm up again, heading out into the hall. 

 

"Have you heard anything from him? Anything at all, Elaine?"

 

"Jim, what's happened?"

 

I can hear Rex whine in the background, the hum of a television. It's the kind of peace I can only dream of right now.

_If I find Sebastian in the same state as Mansfield, I'll never feel peace again._

 

"He's..." I struggle with what to say, not wanting to worry her. "Have you heard anything, Elaine? A text, a... message?"

 

"No. Nothing."  She lowers her voice, and when she speaks, it's equal parts frightened and stiff. "...Is this... 'your' people?"

 

_She was so willing to accept me before. Not so much now._

I open my mouth to answer, but I can't bring myself to lie to her. My answer is in my silence.

 

"...Oh, James.."

 

Her voice wavers, and I screw my eyes shut.

  
"I'm going to find him. I have to find him. We... we only just... he only just..."

 

I hear something behind me, and glance up to find Viana there, her eyes wet and face haggard, gaunt with shock and grief. There's something else in those dark eyes, too.

 

Hunger. She wants vengeance. She looks numb.

 

There's still blood on her cheek. 

 

"The television." She says to me, holding out her phone. Her voice is just a croak after all that screaming. 

 

"The television?" I repeat confusedly, and on the phone, I hear Elaine's television increase in volume. And then her whisper, shocked and horrified, down the phone to me. 

 

"...Oh my God."

 

\--

 

Sebastian doesn't have a TV, so I'm running towards the bedroom again, trying not to look at Mansfield's ruined body as I find the laptop and bring it back out with me. I set it up hastily on the kitchen counter, and set about loading up a streaming channel. Finding the terrestrial television stations. Viana stands by me aimlessly, her voice soft and disbelieving in its hoarseness.

 

"....I spoke to him yesterday... He.. was so happy..."

 

"Jim?? Jim?"

 

I hear Elaine from where the phone sits beside the computer, and snatch it up, pressing it between my ear and shoulder as the channel buffers. "What is it? What can you see?"

 

Viana answers for her, reading from her own phone screen in that same dead tone. 

 

"...There's an M on screen. On every screen."  
  
"Just an M?"  
  
"Just an M."  
  
"That's you." Elaine says, and then the screen finishes loading, and I see it too. A grey background, with a black M in the centre. A call to me, personally. "That's you, isn't it? M?"

 

"It's me." I confirm quietly, eyes settling on the screen. What does it mean? What do they want? "I'm -"

 

Whatever I was about to say tails off as the image changes, that M seeming to shatter into a million pieces, giving way to a live feed instead. A camera, fixed upon a blank, dark wall. 

 

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. 

 

_Where is he? What have you done with him?_

 

"Who's seeing this?" I ask Viana quietly, without taking my eyes off the screen.

 

"Everyone." She replies, just as hollow. "...On all channels. Streaming live on Youtube."

 

Both of us stand, staring intently at that screen. My heart thuds as my eyes roam the picture, waiting for anything to change, waiting for Sebastian to be wheeled into view, broken. 

 

Minutes pass, ticking away into silence. The screen is live; I can see the slight jumps of the camera, the faint movements. There's no sound. Nothing is happening. Why is nothing happening?

 

Soon, Viana steps away and starts making calls. She's ordering clean-up, her voice still just as dead as before. This has hit her hard - but I can't think about that right now. 

 

 _Sebastian needs me_. 

 

On the phone, Elaine says nothing, but I keep it pressed to my ear. She's watching with me. My heart thuds, my eyes beginning to go fuzzy the longer I watch the screen; the blank wall, the jumpy picture. Soon, Viana hangs up the phone, and then walks silently to the sofa, slowly sitting down and putting her head in her hands. I've begun to tap on the table with my fingers, anxiously watching that picture, willing it to change. I can't keep those thoughts away for long. Sebastian. He could be dying right now. Bleeding out...

 

Finally - the picture jolts as the camera is picked up, and turned. Focused instead on a person sitting in a chair, a white sign in their hands. It's been scrawled on with black pen. I recognise that frightened face before anything else, and can't help the gasp that leaves my lips. 

 

Viana is up in a second, hurrying back to my side. "What?"

 

Elaine speaks down the phone before I can. "....Is that Donald McGowan?"

 

I just nod, horrorstruck, as if she could see me. Donald holds that sign in trembling fingers, eyes flicking from the camera to whoever holds it. He's still in costume. They must have taken him straight from the set. 

 

"Oh God.." Elaine says, frightened. I finally force myself to read the sign. 

 

**'YOU LIKE PLAYING GAMES'**

 

"What does that mean?" Viana asks, and I point a hand at her, voice urgent.

 

"Trace it. Get the men on it now, trace the location."

 

She runs off. 

 

"Jim? Are you there??"  
  
"Yes Elaine, I'm here."  
  
"What's-"  
  
The camera moves again, and then Lisa is looking back at me, shaking like a leaf, hours of artful make-up having leaked in black rivulets down her cheeks. Her lips tremble, and she shrinks down behind her own sign, as if she might like to hide behind it. She twitches mutely as if reprimanded by somebody, and then holds it straighter, my heart aching for her. 

 

"...Lisa..."

 

**'LET'S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK'**

 

"What's he doing, Jim?" Elaine asks me, firmly now, though I can hear the fear in her voice. "What's going on?"  
  
"Sebastian's been taken." I explain, surprised by how calm my voice is. This - a threat, a ransom, business, whatever this is - I can cope with. 

 

It's the nothingness, the not knowing, that tears me apart. 

 

"...And so, apparently, have the rest of my costars."

 

_Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's nothing personal. Whoever they are, maybe they don't know that Sebastian and I are an item._

 

Guilt churns in my stomach for being relieved that he might not be alone. 

 

The camera shifts, and Geraldine's face is so impassively repulsed, so strong in the face of her captors that I can't help but smile - just the shadow of one at her stubbornness to show weakness. The smile disappears as I read the next sign, concentrating hard. Geraldine says something, but there's no sound - whatever she spits at the person behind the camera is lost.

**'IF YOU FIND ME SOON ENOUGH'**

 

"Do you have them yet?" I call to Viana, and she shakes her head, pacing with the phone.

 

"Not yet. Techies are on it. They've hacked the old terrestrial mainframe, so we should be able to trace..."

 

But whatever she says fades into insignificance when I hear Elaine start yelling on the other end of the phone; a sudden and stomach churning mix of sobs and pleas. I clutch the phone tighter, and turn my attention back on the screen, where the camera has now panned to a furious looking Sebastian, already sporting a black eye and a split lip. His knuckles are grazed and split as he holds the sign, but he's alive, he's alive and he's alright, and oh my God, my emotions burst out of that box all at once, leaving my throat in a relieved sob.

**'I WON'T MAKE YOUR FRIENDS SQUEAK'**

 

**'ONE HOUR'**

 

Those blue eyes stare at the camera, indignant fury within them, and yet he seems to be trying to say something, even now. Those eyes warn me off. Those eyes tell me to stay away. He mouths my name, and I put a hand on the screen, as though I could reach him, touch his face, make it all better...

 

The phone has clattered down onto the counter, Elaine's voice lost as I watch Sebastian, my heart thudding, my mouth dry. Viana is calling to me, running at me, shoving her own phone in my face with an address, a god damned address, trying to pull me with her.

 

As I watch someone else steps into the frame. Sebastian's eyes flicker to them, and they stand behind him, hold a knife to his throat. I cry out, gripping the edge of the screen as if it will stop them - but they just jolt Sebastian's head back roughly by his hair, rest the blade against his jugular. Reinforcing that threat. I don't recognise the hands or the body. A thug, then. Hired help.

 

**YOU LIKE PLAYING GAMES**

**LET'S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK**

**IF YOU FIND ME SOON ENOUGH**

**I WON'T MAKE  YOUR FRIENDS SQUEAK**

 

I need to take men with me. I need to get him back.

 

I'll go in alone if I have to.

 

I'm coming for you, Sebastian. 

 

Viana pulls me hard, and I stagger after her, heading for the stairs. I manage to grab my phone at the last minute, and bring it back to my ear, Elaine sniffing on the other end.

 

"Jim?" She says, tearful. "Jim, can you hear me?"  
  
"I'm going after them." I tell her, my own voice shaking - more with fury and purpose now, than any kind of fear.

_He's alive. He's alive. They won't touch him._

 

The lift pings, and we climb inside. Viana jabs at the button. She's got the live feed on her phone, and we watch together, Elaine breaking up on the other end of my line.  
  
"Jim?" She says, voice shaky, and I'm silent, watching the knife wielding thug head back to the camera, and switch it off. Normal programming resumes - a gardening show, the bright greens and chirping voice of the presenter a sudden sound, so at odds to what we just saw.   
  
"...Yes?"

 

Elaine's voice is cold. A mother's growl.

 

"Fucking kill them."

 

\--


	32. The Address

The address is in Essex, which doesn't surprise me. It must be close to the set, for them to grab Geraldine, Lisa and Donald, though Geraldine wasn't even in today...

 

Viana and I hurry into the car, Elaine on the phone still held to my ear, though it's with less urgency now that Viana sits beside me. She stares ahead, a little numbly, and I wonder not for the first time if she and Mansfield were ever 'just colleagues'.

 

He was a good man. A good worker. But I can't help the relief that still sits in my chest. It wasn't Sebastian. 

 

Now, Moriarty paces urgently inside me, fists clenched and seething for his vengeance. 

 

"Are you on the way?" Elaine asks me, and I nod, forgetting that she can't see me.

 

"I'm on the way."  
  
"...Please be careful, Jim."

 

I don't answer that. I'll do whatever it takes to get Sebastian back. The others, too.

 

None of them have asked for this. 

 

"Jim?"

 

"I'll do what I can." 

 

It's all I can say for now.

 

At Viana's order, our driver is speeding towards Essex, and I watch London fly past the window with a thudding hard, fingertips tapping anxiously on the seat beside me. Viana doesn't speak. Her phone buzzes occasionally, and she casts disinterested glances at it. When I look at her properly, I realise that she's crying. Her face is set, impassive, but those tears roll down her cheeks. At last, when they start dripping from her chin, she wipes them away with an impatient hand.

 

"I'm going to put the phone down now." I tell Elaine when we're around ten minutes away. Neither of us have spoken in that time - what is there to say? We're waiting, rushing, the two of us stuck between what has happened and what might happen next. I might lose him. I might not make it. There's no point talking it over; not until we know for sure. Though I'm sure if that's the case, I'll be in no mood for chatting.

 

Something tells me I'll be looking for the nearest high building. 

 

"They're talking about it on the news." Elaine tells me, as if she hasn't heard me. I can hear the TV in the background, anxiously loud newsreader voices, recounting what they just saw. "...They're talking about you."

 

"Oh?"  I look out of the window. Why aren't we there yet? Urgency burns in my chest. 

 

_I need to get to him._

 

"Wondering why you haven't been targeted."  
  
"I suppose they'll figure it out soon enough." I say, unable to think about that resignation settling in my chest. I can't - not when that urgency is still there. 

 

"...Are you going to make it?" 

 

The car begins to slow, pulling onto a pavement. My gaze flicks to the clock. Sixteen minutes to spare.

 

"We made it."

 

I hang up on Elaine, because I need to concentrate, and shove the phone into my pocket. I force the door open and clamber out, breaking into a run up the street, though Viana chases after me, yelling the house number we need. My heart races in my chest, and I'm scanning the numbers as quickly as I can before realising that they're wrong somehow, that we've -

 

"It's the wrong street!"

 

Viana calls, and I curse, the two of us turning and running full pelt back the other way. Our driver has pulled off, much to Viana's chagrin, and she screams after him as we come to a stop in the road, putting her phone to her ear.

 

"No time." I say, and grab her, running for the end of the road. We'll just have to find it.

 

Thirteen minutes.

 

My feet pound the tarmac as we round the corner at last, the longest fucking road in the world, and turn onto the main road. I pause for only a second, and then I'm off again, running between the streets, across roads, looking at the different names. Viana follows after me, occasionally calling out for me to wait, but I can't afford to waste even a second, not when Sebastian's may be limited. 

 

Ten minutes.

 

"Huntingdon Way!" I yell at last, shrill, and hurtle down the avenue, Viana shouting after me.

 

"Wait! Don't go in alone!"  
  
"Number?!"  
  
"Eighteen!"

 

Eight minutes.

 

A wheelie bin tells me that I'm at number one hundred and ninety four. I've got a fucking sprint ahead of me, and my heart thuds, my body aching, running on the adrenaline alone. My lungs are on fire as I break into another run, heading down the street, past house after house, having to stop when I'm almost hit by a reversing car. Viana screams, but I just skid around it, and keep running.

 

It's as if I can hear his name in every beat of my frenzied pulse.

 

_Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian._

 

And then, fainter, the names of my costars. Innocent people. 

 

They've only tried to help me.

 

_Geraldine. Donald. Lisa._

 

Six minutes.

 

One hundred and two, one hundred. Ninety eight. Ninety six. I have to stop for a few seconds when I reach eighty, my vision having started to haze, and a painful stitch in my side - or maybe it's my ribs, the injury returning from the heavy exercise. I grip my side for a moment, breathing hard, and Viana is catching up, on the phone to someone - maybe calling for back up. 

 

Four minutes.

 

 

_Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian._

I'm back up again, and sprinting for the finish line - seventy four, seventy two, seventy, sixty eight - the numbers fly past me, and it's not far now, not far, and I'm going to make it -

 

 

Three minutes.

 

"I'm here!" I call out wildly, as if it might stop whatever is going on inside. Suppose somebody's watch is fast? Suppose they decide to get started a few minutes early?

 

No. No, no, no.

 

Two minutes.

 

"Boss! Wait!"

 

Forty, thirty eight, thirty six. 

 

I speed up, gasping, my vision hazing again, but I have to make it. The houses sail past, and then suddenly I'm crashing through the door of number eighteen, with nothing more than a hope that the sight of me will delay the torture. 

 

"I'm here!"

 

"Boss, wait for me!" Viana shrieks behind me, but I stand dumbstruck, panting and dizzy in an empty hallway. In an empty sitting room. Confused. What? Where are they? What? I don't understand.

 

"Boss!"

 

As Viana barrels through the door after me, she comes to a standstill beside me, the two of us just staring at the television in the corner of the room as it flickers to life, the two of us still panting. 

 

"...What the fuck..." Viana breathes, and grips onto the wall to support herself, as I step closer to the set, ominous realisation sinking in my chest. 

 

_We were set up._

 

A new sign fills the screen. Black pen scrawled on a white board.

 

**'UH OH. TOO LATE'**

"...No.." I breathe, and the sound is a jagged plea as I step forward, a hand outstretched towards the television as the picture slowly pans out. 

 

A frightened Donald is revealed to be holding it, and as we watch, he opens his mouth to speak to whoever stands behind the camera, in a desperate plea. They've moved him to a separate room. I almost wish he was still sitting beside the others, just so I could get a glimpse of Sebastian.

 

Whoever is orchestrating doesn't listen. Someone dressed in head-to-toe black approaches behind Donald, and he suddenly starts to thrash, muted and terrified, eyes still on whoever stands behind the camera. Whoever holds the camera.

 

Viana gasps. I step forward, my lips parting in shock.

 

They won't. They can't. 

 

The man in black slits Donald's throat.

 

\--

 

It's pointedly violent and slow, barbaric to the point of sadism as Donald screams silently, thrashing where he's bound. The blood begins to spurt free even before his assailant has finished making the cut - this isn't a quick reprieve. They want me to see him suffer - to see that realisation, that terror on his face, and I do. I stand in stunned silence, Viana beside me, as the blood siphons down Donald's neck, spilling over his collar as his face falls slack and his eyes roll back - and then he's slumping down in his seat.

 

My heart thuds, and neither I or Viana say anything as Donald falls still, that blood still gushing steadily from the gaping wound and down his front. We've seen things like this before. I've ordered this to be done to a person, before.

 

And yet right now, I feel sick. Donald was innocent. His only crime was being connected to me, and now he's dead. He's dead, because of me. 

 

Viana reaches across, and I jump when she takes my hand. Her fingers are cold. I look over at her blearily, and find that Mansfield's blood has dried on her cheek. Her eyes still have that faint vacancy to them, the look she's taken on since we found him, and I just look back at the screen, faintly pleased for the action. Moriarty scoffs. 

 

_She understands._

 

"They're tracing again." She says after a moment, quiet, after a glance at her phone.

 

On the screen, the man in black has stepped in front of the camera. He holds Donald's sign, spattered with blood - fresh words written on the back. 

**'TRY AGAIN'**

 

The screen goes black, and then I bend down, resting on my haunches, and put my head in my hands. 

 

They knew. They knew exactly what I'd do, where I'd go, how I'd get the information. I was so confident. So sure that I had this; that I could outsmart whichever idiot tried to outplay M, and now...

 

_I'm so sorry, Donald._

 

"We've got an address." Viana says, but looks at me dubiously. "...It might be another set up."

 

I get to my feet, wipe my face on my sleeve. I don't say a word, but I walk to the door, heading outside where our driver is idling again, a sheepish look on his face. 

 

"Sir?" Viana prompts. "Are we going?"

 

I look back at her, and I recognise that sudden hopelessness in her eyes. I'm beginning to feel it myself.

 

_They set me up. They're going to watch me suffer._

 

"What choice do we have?"

 

\--

 

I can see exactly how this is going to pan out. 

 

Moriarty rages inside me at our impotence, at how useless my intellect is, my devious scheming... my talents lain to waste by the use of people I care about against me.

 

_We never used to have this problem. Not when it was just us._

 

My clever mind lays out the plan before me with resignation, my stomach churning.  They'll call us to another place - somewhere far enough away for us to have to rush there. It'll be empty again, another screen set up somewhere - and I'll see Lisa die. And then Geraldine. And then... and then...

 

"You know what he's doing."

 

Viana says quietly, the driver already speeding back the way we came. As predicted, the next address is in central London. We'll just make it. Maybe. 

 

_And nobody will be there._

 

"Of course I do."  My voice sounds numb. Bitter. "...I'd do it myself."

 

Viana falls silent at that. My phone is ringing. Or, Sebastian's phone. I realise that it's probably been ringing for a while, the buzzing in my pocket familiar. I lift it to my ear, hating what I have to say before I answer. 

 

"Elaine, it wasn't-"  
  
"I know."  
  
"...What?"

 

"The world just saw Donald McGowan executed."

 

My stomach flips over again, unpleasantly.  "...That was live?"

 

Elaine bursts into tears. "My son, Jim. My baby."  She takes a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. Her voice is angry. "He's already been through Afghanistan. He's already been through losing his father-"

 

I close my eyes, fingers squeezing the phone tighter. 

 

"I'm so sorry."  
  
"I'm not angry with  _you_ -"

 

"Boss."  Viana's voice is urgent, her eyes on her phone screen, and I glance over, pursing my lips flat.  
  
"Elaine, I'll have to call you back."  
  
"Jim-"  
  
"We might have something."

 

I end the call guiltily, and lean over, reading Viana's text message. She looks at me.

 

"They've found another address. I think it might be the one. It might be the end game." Excitement,  and perhaps triumph, flicker behind the grieving cavern of her eyes.

 

"Where?" I ask quickly, hope fluttering in my chest, Moriarty paying rapt attention. Sudden suspicion hits me. "...Was it 'sent' to us?"

 

Viana's expression hardens slightly. "....It was in Mansfield's stomach. Paper in a rubber packet."

 

I don't ask for anymore information than that.

 

_Mansfield must have known. He swallowed something, trying to warn us. To give us a headstart._

_Knowing he was going to die._

 

Either that, or it's been planted by them. Another way to throw us off track, another part of the 'game'.. or perhaps our final clue. Perhaps they expect us to find that one last. When the game is over, and my costars are all dead. When I'm already broken, and they're ready for the final showdown.

 

Viana watches me intently. 

 

If we choose to go with the address, then we risk abandoning the one we found at 18 Huntingdon Way. Which could also be the correct one.  We're risking not only Lisa's life, but Geraldine's and Sebastian's, too. 

 

I bite my lip, torn.

 

Moriarty straightens, deep in thought.

 

My gut tells me that we're skipping levels, here. That this might just be it. 

 

"...Are we going with it?"

 

"...We're going with it."

 

She leans in to bark orders at the driver, and the car does a U-turn with a squeal of brakes.

 

\--

 


	33. The Warehouse

As we're speeding towards our new address - significantly closer than the 'decoy' one (or at least the one we've assumed is the decoy), Viana has another idea.

 

"Why don't we send some men to the other one? Check it out, just in case?"

 

I frown. "But if that's the right one, it won't stop them. They want me."

 

"If the fuckers have a fight on their hands, it might at least delay them until we can turn around and get there."

 

I have no better ideas. And I want to let Viana have some say in this. That steely glint in her eye is pain, behind the grieving vacancy. She's hungry for vengeance. 

 

"Fine." I agree, and look back to the window, fingers tight around the armrest. Suppose we're wrong? Suppose we're not going to make it? 

 

_Donald's already dead. The film is ruined, as if any of that matters now._

_The world just saw an innocent man murdered. And if I'm wrong, they could see it three more times._

My phone rings again, but I can't talk to Elaine again right now. The panic in her voice cuts through me to the core, and it can't help me right now.

 

"The men are on their way."  Viana confirms, and then a moment later; softer, her voice cracking. "They've taken Mansfield back to headquarters."

 

I nod, eyes still on the city flying past. I can't share in her grief, right now. I can't afford to think like that yet.

 

\--

 

As the car begins to slow, turning into a new street, that tension in my chest has reached a peak again, and I'm practically vibrating with it where I sit, Viana watching me anxiously. 

 

"Don't park here." I order sharply, and the driver just glances back at Viana - not realising that I'm the boss. That I'm M.

 

It's funny - the whole of the damned UK has probably realised that by now. Viana confirms my order with a nod, and he pulls into an avenue, driving right down to the end, and parking in an empty driveway. 

 

"Can he shoot?" I ask Viana, and the man answers me himself.  
  
"Yes I can, sir."  
  
"Gun?"  
  
"Not on me."

 

I roll my eyes, and Viana just sighs impatiently. 

 

"Just stay here. We might need a fast getaway, and you're no good to us without a gun."  
  


The driver bows his head, chastened, and I feel a slight sense of pride in my chest. It doesn't last long - that urgency descends again, and I climb from the car, Viana following. I glance at my phone screen, above all the missed calls from Elaine. We've still got ten minutes until the next 'deadline'. They won't be expecting us here.

 

"We've got the advantage of surprise." I say as we walk down the street, pulling Viana back to walk alongside me. Everything inside me screams to run, to barrel into the place like we did last time, to end things sooner rather than later - but we'd stick out like a sore thumb, running down the street, and Moriarty yells at me to use anything I can for a tactical advantage. 

 

"Are you armed?" I ask Viana, and the ghost of a grin appears for half a second, before the numb expression returns.

 

"Always."

 

"Good."  I'm not. I didn't even think about it. My gun - if it's still there - will be at Sebastian's place, still. In my bag. 

 

_I'm going in unarmed to try and rescue four... three... people. There's going to be a whole team of men there._

 

Is this a suicide mission?

 

_If I can save Sebastian, it'll be worth it._

 

My decision startles even Moriarty, who is rendered furiously speechless. Viana brings me back to reality by gesturing at a warehouse at the end of the road - tall and imposing, a delapidated 'REG WHEELS' sign hanging off a barbed wire fence. The gate stands open - a padlock broken with metal clippers. Heavy duty. I hold the broken lock in my hand, eyes flicking around us, looking for cameras as Viana heads in front of me. 

 

_Professional job._

 

I follow after her slowly, the two of us scouting out this side of the building - old brick and corrugated metal. Her phone buzzes in her hand, and Viana pauses to read the message, before heading over to show me. Her voice is quiet, urgent. 

 

"The men arrived." She holds out the phone, and the picture is of a television, set up in the corner of an empty room. The screen is still black - but they're early. They still have five minutes.  
  
We need to get inside before they cut Lisa's throat.

 

"Keep looking." I urge, and Viana nods, disappears off around the side. I can't stop looking for cameras; there's a prickle at the back of my neck, like I'm being watched, and the tension is thick - suffocating. That urgency still beats in my chest, and I reach a door after a while; warped and rotting wood, unused. 

 

_I can hear voices._

 

My heart thudding away, I lean in and peek through the miniscule gap between the wood and the metal, finding an empty corridor, only just visible in the reduced light. I glance behind me to call Viana, but she's nowhere to be seen - and I don't know how long we have now. Two minutes? I can't waste another second. As carefully as I can, I'm gritting my teeth as I reach for the door knob, and it comes away in my hand, the rotting wood around it no longer able to support the metal. I set it down quietly in the dirt, and with another look around myself, reach into the hole and use it to gently ease the door open, relieved when it gives. I was expecting it to be stuck against the metal, but the wood is all but falling apart under my hands, pliable and soggy. I manage to squeeze in through the gap, and then I'm standing in the corridor - dry, though the smell of damp is strong, along with that of animals that have crawled inside here to shit and sleep and die. I breathe through my mouth, standing for a moment to try and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. 

 

I wonder whether Viana's found a better way in, when she doesn't appear at the door. I hope so.

 

I'd know if she'd been caught, I reassure myself as I begin to take cautious step after cautious step through the blackness. I can hear people speaking still, muffled through the wall - no raised voices, no shock or screams. I'd know if they'd got her. 

 

We're safe, for now. 

 

I realise soon that I'm listening for Sebastian's voice. For any sign that he's okay, that he's still...

 

A thought hits me, and my blood runs cold for a moment.

 

_Why do you assume that they'll kill them in the order that they were sitting?_

_Sure, Donald was first... but they don't care._

_For all you know, he's next._

 

I must only be seconds away from the deadline. Suddenly I'm hurrying, my heart in my throat, towards the voices - it's him. It'll be him. Of course it'll be him, next. Light greets me from the end of the hall, outlining a door. My footsteps are careful, even in the urgency, trying not to let my footfalls echo around the concrete. I squint at the brightness as I get closer and put my eye to the gaps around the door, trying to see through; to see if I'm too late, but it's blinding after my walk in the dark and I have to blink furiously to see a damned thing.

 

The scrape of a chair. Lisa's sob. The murmurings of the men in black. I hear it all before my eyes can finally focus, and then I see them; dragging her into place, wiping that knife down with a cloth. Donald's blood is drying, splattered on the floor. His body lays abandoned in the corner of the room, slumped on the floor on a haphazard tarpaulin, still steadily leaking blood. I swallow, throat thick. Sebastian and Geraldine must be in another room. I'm ashamed at the relief in my chest at his safety, especially as I watch them position that camera, the three thugs seemingly alone with Lisa - though they regularly touch their ears, giving the occasional nod or grunt of agreement. Earpieces. 

_Is he even here, the one who's behind all this? Is he sitting in an office somewhere, orchestrating my devastation?_

One of the men glances up at the clock. It's time. He gestures to the other men, and one of them presses a button on the camera. 

 

"Live." He grunts, and then after a moment; "Yes sir."

 

My heart thuds. I've already been an audience to one death. But if I'm alone and unarmed... if I reveal myself to save Lisa, that could be it. They've got me. 

 

And there's no guarantee that Sebastian would get away.

 

_Can you really do this? Stand there and watch while they execute another innocent, in your name?_

Even Moriarty's sneer sounds surprised. I swallow hard, fingers twitching on the doorknob as the man polishing his knife tosses the rag on the floor, and stalks over. Another passes him a sign, scrawling a new message on it. He forces it into Lisa's trembling hands, and a sob bursts from her throat, terrified and looking around herself in her desperacy. 

 

 **'WRONG AGAIN!** '

 

We were right. They were going to lead us around a merry chase, until all my costars were dead. 

 

_And yet you're here now. Are you really going to let them carry on?_

_Maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you are as cold as me._

 

The man with the knife fists a hand in Lisa's hair, and she shrieks and thrashes, crying out hysterically when the knife is positioned at her throat. She drops the sign in her panic, and one of the men curses, the man behind her giving a harsh tug to her hair as another picks it up, puts it back in her hands. My heart is racing, guilt fighting logic in my head, Moriarty willing me to keep silent, while me, myself, the person that I know, that Sebastian loves, willing me to do something.

 

Any second now. 

 

The knife rests at Lisa's jugular, and she sobs, her make-up a mess, nose running, shaking like a leaf. The man behind the camera gives a nod. 

 

The hand tightens on the knife and -

 

I burst through the door, and throw myself at Lisa. 

 

\--

 

The sudden move startles them, and Lisa's chair topples beneath her, both of us - and the knife wielding man in black - going down hard onto the concrete. I'm up in a second, snatching that knife from where it's fallen on the concrete, and with no hesitation, ram the blade through the fallen man's throat. Lisa is screaming, shrieking, and the remaining two men are running at us, but Moriarty has taken over now, and there's no stopping him.

 

_That was for Donald._

 

Lisa's bindings have snapped as she fell, but she just screams, crawling over the floor towards the door and shielding her head, her terror ruling her. I straighten with the knife, and slash wildly through the air as the two men get close, thrusting it forward purposely hard when one of them calls my bluff, and tries to tackle me. I feel the blade tear through his stomach - fat and muscle and no doubt organs, his strangled gasp in my ear as he crumples on top of me, bringing me back down onto the concrete. 

 

_One more._

 

Adrenaline and Moriarty fuel me as I roll out from under the second man, teeth gritted and eyes wild, blood down the front of my suit, slickly coating my arm to the elbow. The final man stands in the corner of the room, frantically loading bullets into a gun, and I run for him, blood lust in my veins, a distant beat reminding me what I'm here for.

 

_Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian._

 

He turns at the last second, and that gun is pointed between my eyes.

 

I stop dead, knife held aloft, harsh breaths bursting from my lips. My suit is in disarray, my hair falling over my eyes. I'm drenched in blood.

 

But I was too slow.

 

The man pants, holding that weapon with a nervous force that unsettles me, finger ready and waiting on the trigger. His gaze flicks nervously to his two dead colleagues, and then to Lisa, who fiddles clumsily with the door handle, still sobbing on her hands and knees. 

 

"Get her away from the door."  The man says to me, voice gruff but uneasy. I take a reluctant step back, still gripping that knife. My own voice is breathless.   
  
"...Lisa."

 

She doesn't seem to hear me, just fumbling harder at the door knob. 

 

"Lisa -"  I try again, but the man impatiently fires the gun three times into the door, and she screams again, curling into a ball to shield her head. I hurry over, put my arms around her waist and try and drag her to standing, but she's thrashing against me, screaming again, completely hysterical in terror. I manage to get her to the other side of the room, where she pulls away from me and throws herself into the corner, curling up into a sobbing ball again, hiding behind her knees. I'm breathing hard, and when I look back at the man in black, he's got a hand to his ear, gun still pointed at me. 

 

Listening to orders.

 

The camera has tipped over. Donald's body still lays prone on one side of the room, his eyes rheumy in death. 

 

"You're early." The man says at last, and the words are stiff, stilted, an obvious repetition of whoever is speaking in his ear. He looks to one side of me, obviously concentrating hard on the words. "...There's... another two... rounds yet."

 

"I guess I jumped ahead." I drawl wryly, Moriarty posturing inside me for another fight. My eyes find the door to the left. There's another in here too, making three with the door that I came in through. Sebastian has to be through one of them. 

 

"Spoilsport." The man says, in his concentrated monotone. He shifts uneasily with the gun.

_Where are you, Viana?_

 

"I'm here." I say, sharp. "I made it. You've got me. You can let them go now."

 

I can hear the tinny laugh from where I'm standing, through the earpiece, and the man winces at the loud sound in his ear. He doesn't try to copy that. 

 

"...Not to worry." He says eventually, that same stilted tone as he shifts his grip on the gun. "...We've got... another round... for you."

 

_Another round?_

"I must be lucky." I quip, a snarl, and the man listens intently to his earpiece, before his gaze snaps to me - direct this time. An order. 

 

"Get through that door." He says gruffly; his own words again. He jabs the gun towards the door on the right; the one I just noticed. Not the exit. Not the door that Lisa was trying to escape through. But something else. 

 

I take a step closer, not taking my eyes from that gun. 

 

"...And if I don't?" 

 

No answer from my captor, or his earpiece controller. He just turns the gun sideways, precise eyes aiming at the direct centre of my forehead. 

 

"Drop the knife."   

 

That one is gruff. I bite the inside of my cheek, and then with chagrin, let the blade clatter to the floor, slick with blood. 

 

I'm unarmed. 

 

What the fuck is through that door? 

 

_Torture. Shooting squad. Sebastian with a knife to his throat._

 

I take a step closer, with a last ditch hope for Viana to burst in and come to my rescue. But the building feels silent and still. I don't know what's happened to her. I reach for the door handle, and that voice speaks behind me, stilted and flat.

 

But I can almost hear that amusement in the words.

 

"I... was hoping... I'd get to... see this."

 

I open the door, step into darkness. And then it closes behind me.

 

And locks.

 

\--


	34. The Abuser

My heart thuds in my chest, and I'm conscious of being able to hear my own breathing in the darkness, eyes not yet adjusting to the thick blackness of the room. I'm still, frozen, listening for movement, for whatever awaits me in here.

 

Perhaps it's something physically harmless.. I think, poised and waiting for attack, my senses blind. Perhaps it's something emotional, a video, objects waiting for me to find them.

 

I think I'd rather that right now, than waiting for something to spring out at me. My nerves are on edge as my eyes flick through the darkness, the closed door shutting out all remaining sound from the other room.

 

Suppose that armed thug turns back around and starts on Lisa again? Geraldine or Sebastian? They're not safe yet.

 

I turn back around and reach for the door handle, but of course it doesn't shift, merely giving a metallic rattle. Locked behind me. And then suddenly - a light comes on, with a very pointed click from behind me, and the hairs on my neck stand on end. I don't turn around yet.  
  
"Hello darling."

 

Craig's words are so thick with malicious intent that my eyes slip closed. That old resignation settles in, with a sinking in my stomach.

 

Of course. It had to be.

 

\--

 

I turn around and face him. He stands dark eyed, dressed in a suit - more put together than I've seen him in weeks. I think he's even wearing aftershave. This has been planned. Orchestrated. There's no sign of the blow to his head that Sebastian delivered, but I don't know what I was expecting. His head caved in, perhaps. Blood matted in his hair..  But he looks immaculate, and his smile is grotesque, wide set eyes glittering at me with purpose. My heart gives an involuntary frightened flip, and again, Moriarty curses inside me, furious that I respond this way, even now.

_What happened to you?_

_You let him batter you. Beat you down. Break you._

 

"They've sent you to kill me." I summarise flatly, and my voice doesn't travel, sound blocked in by the concrete walls. No windows. No carpet. Nobody will hear me scream. 

 

I've never seen Craig in that suit before, and there was a time that I washed all his clothes. It's fitted properly. Expensive. He's wearing cufflinks. That grotesque smile grows, and he steps closer. My fingers curl into fists.

 

"Do you like it?" He asks me, and there's a mocking drawl behind those words. "They wanted me to look nice for the cameras."

 

My gaze flicks to one side. Sure enough, a curled black orb sits in the top corner of the room above a solitary cabinet, a blinking red light fixed on us. 

 

 _They wanted to film my execution_.

 

"Burch." I say, and Craig's grin deepens just a touch. He rearranges a cufflink.

 

"Made yourself a couple of enemies, didn't you." He comments, chiding, and I purse my lips flat. I wish my chest didn't feel so fucking tight. 

 

_I am Moriarty. I am M._

 

I turn around, try the door again almost a little frantically. Perhaps if I kick it hard enough, it'll give. It's only wood after all. Maybe Viana can find me. She's armed. She'll blast the lock right off. 

 

_I don't want them to see me begging. Begging and bleeding._

_Maybe they'll broadcast it to the world. No one in the crime world will ever work with me again._

"You asked for this." Craig tells me matter-of-factly. I glance back, knowing that turning my back on him was never my best plan. But he's sauntering away from me, opening that cabinet door. "You were a little cockslut. If you'd behaved, stayed with me instead of letting everyone and his brother fuck you, maybe I wouldn't need to teach you a lesson."

 

The cabinet is full of glinting metal tools. I get a glance before Craig opens it wider, shutting the rest off from view. Pliers. A hammer. Knives. A scalpel. A metal file.

 

"And now I find out," He goes on, as I take an almost unconscious step back towards the door. He swings a hammer out of the cabinet - a mallet, a metal bludgeon, and it clangs dully against the wall. "...That you've been lying to me. All along. My baby, lying to me."

 

My shoulders hit the door before I've even realised that I've been backing up, and my heart is hammering against my ribs, recognising Craig's easygoing tone. It means he's furious. It means he's ready to attack, to smash and beat until there's nothing left. 

 

I think about that crowbar, scraping across the floor as I laid next to it. What would have happened if Sebastian hadn't intervened.

 

_He's got his chance, now. Think of what he could do to you with all those tools._

 

"You're a cheat, and a liar, and a little whore, aren't you?" Craig remarks pleasantly, lifting that hammer to scrub almost affectionately at the head with his chin. He takes a sauntering step closer. "I was going to take you back again."

 

Hope flickers somewhere in my stomach. Could I talk my way out of this?

 

"...Yeah... Give you a bit of a  _clean out_ , you know... but then your boyfriend pissed me off."  His expression darkens a little. I purse my lips. I've tried before to talk him out of hurting me.

 

I've tried hundreds of times. It never works.

 

"He's going to die, you know." Craig grins at that, and hoists up that hammer. I wince. He lets it slap against the skin of his hand, and then again, pointedly. "... Guess who gets to do it?"

 

"You're not a killer." I say, and the words surprise me, bold from my mouth. Much bolder than I feel. Craig raises his eyebrows in surprise. I go on, fingers curling into fists at my sides. "You're not. You'd like to think that you can do it..."

 

A flicker of irritation runs through Craig's gaze. Fat fingers tighten on the hilt of that mallet. 

 

"...But you're not." I swallow my fear,  take a step towards him. Just within reach of that hammer. "You've never killed a man."

 

"You can be my first." Craig simpers back, but I've angered him -  I see the sudden twitch of the muscles in his arms. I manage to leap out of the way just before the metal bludgeon slams down, and smashes off a chunk of concrete from the wall. Adrenaline surges, and I run for the cabinet - if I can get hold of something heavy too, I can smash the door in and run, find the others. Or a gun, a knife, anything to keep him away from -

 

I shriek, the sound uncontrollably bursting from my throat as my body is flooded by fifty thousand volts. I've stiffened, spasming and jolting before I fall hard onto the concrete floor. The pain is sudden and crippling; not pain so much as the white hot contorting of my nerves as Craig stands above me with his taser held aloft. 

 

_Every part of this screams 'prepared'._

 

I'm still vibrating, an electric tremor running through my stiff limbs uncontrollably as I watch him, paralysed from the floor. He's laughing, absolutely beside himself as he turns the taser in his hands, cruelty in his eyes. 

 

"Didn't I tell you? I told you, didn't I, you stupid idiot. Don't ever run from me. Never again."

 

\--

 

A few minutes later, and I'm stiff and aching, sitting on the concrete floor.  He's tied my hands behind me, and is rooting through that cabinet, his hammer abandoned, seemingly unable to choose what he wants to pull me apart with. I flex my wrists - the ties are loose; almost insultingly so. He doesn't see me as a threat in the slightest... even after I stabbed him in the thigh.

 

_He's never been scared of you._

 

The thought is actually more humiliating than I'd like to admit. Crime bosses have cowered at my feet, and yet Craig, a common thug masquerading as a casting director... doesn't even bother to tie my hands properly. Not that it would have helped. He's punched me three or four times, already, in a fit of anger as he tried to sit up my prone body, my limbs still stiff and racked from that electricity. I didn't try and stop him, falling back into learned endurance, and now I taste blood in my mouth. My heart thuds, and I'm scared, I'm fucking frightened of Craig again, and this is not okay. It's not only Moriarty inside me who's furious. 

 

Who have you become?

 

Viana wouldn't recognise you. Maybe Mansfield's better off dead than under your leadership.

 

My cheeks burn, but defiance flickers in my chest. It can't end like this. Sebastian, Geraldine, Lisa... Donald has already paid the ultimate price, and just the thought of that knife cutting across his throat puts something hot in my stomach. I will not be beaten this easily. I will not let Craig have the honour of my death. 

 

My gaze finds that camera, and when I speak, it's a croak of a drawl from where I sit.

 

"...You do know why they're filming you, don't you?"

 

He barely looks at me as he throws tool after tool outside the cabinet, expression getting darker with each. Too much choice. It's frustrating him. I spit onto the floor, hating the taste of my own blood. But it doubles up as an insult. Craig glances over at me. He's holding something akin to a corkscrew in his hands. His fingers tighten on it.   
  
"What?"

 

"I said. You know why they're filming you, don't you?"

 

I flex my wrists, sliding them out of their bindings. My body aches after that tasering, but it's nothing like what I've had before. I've had to endure new bruises on top of old ones, whole days acting on set while my body was black and blue. This is nothing. This is easy pain. I keep my hands behind my back, and roll my head on my shoulders, trying to ease a little of the ache, but Craig grits his teeth. I suppose I must look almost nonchalant. 

 

I continue without being asked, nodding at the camera.

 

"It's so they can get rid of you afterwards."

 

Craig narrows his eyes at me with a sneer, though it isn't quite all there. I've gotten through to him. He tosses that corkscrew away, and reaches back into the cupboard. The machete knife that he brings out with him is suitably large and sharp enough to give me pause for a moment.

 

"Nobody's getting rid of me."

 

"There's a reason none of the men slitting throats on air in there are showing their faces on camera." I point out, and Craig is examining that machete in his hands, almost lovingly. I imagine it slicing through my skin. Craig takes a practice swipe through the air. I swallow. But continue. "...They'll put you in prison. They'll have the video of you killing me, outright."

 

He shakes his head, not taking his gaze from that knife. "Just following orders."

 

"Yeah?" I shoot back, my heart beginning to pound in my throat as he walks closer. "Can you prove that? Because as far as the police are concerned, you've got a videotaped murder of a celebrity, and a cabinet of murder weapons. That's life in prison, without parole."

 

Suddenly that machete is at my throat, pressing close, Craig tilting his head at me with an ugly smile. My hands are frozen behind my back, and my eyes find his, pulse beating against that blade. 

 

"They've got you right where they want you." I whisper, and something flickers in his eyes. Understanding maybe. His gaze swivels to the camera - and I take my chance.

 

My hands fly out from behind my back, and I grab that machete hilt with both hands, almost getting the blade. But I need my fingers. I force it away from me, and then push back, scrambling away over the concrete and jumping up, bracing myself for a fight. Craig is thundering towards me all at once, that machete held high, and it glints in the dull light as I run for the cabinet, just managing to swing one of the wooden doors open before it comes down hard. The sound is a splintering of wood, and I cry out - but the blade has stuck hard, having made it halfway through the door. Craig tugs on it roughly, but it doesn't budge, and I take my chance, grabbing whatever I can from the cabinet to protect myself. I end up with the metal file, the only other thing big enough to actually cause any damage - because he's not going to get close enough for me to use those pliers. 

 

 My fingers have barely closed around it when a rough hand fists in my shirt and throws me backwards, Craig seemingly having abandoned the fancy weapons for use of what he likes best. His fists. 

 

I stagger but regain my footing, and run straight for that door, not interested in fighting unless I've got a chance in hell of winning. I use that file to hack at the door knob, trying to knock it off completely - but only get a couple of hits in before Craig is on me again with a roar, pulling me back with an arm around my neck. I shriek, struggle, thrash around with that file, and it connects with flesh. Craig grunts. And then he slams me down hard onto my back on the concrete.

 

The pain is sudden fire against my spine, at my ribs, still not fully healed yet. The file clatters out of my reach, my breath leaving my lungs in one rush, lips parted and my body wracked with the ache. I'm winded - can't seem to take a damned breath, and then Craig is standing over me again, and his gaze is murderous.   
  
"...They -"

 

I try the same tack again, with another attempted glance at the camera, though my body's aching, and it's all I can do to roll onto my side. 

 

"Always been good with words, haven't you?" Craig spits, and he leans down and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. He might be dressed up, but his skin still smells of sweat and garlic, a sharp and tangy odour that I try and turn my face away from. "Calling me baby... begging me not to hurt you... talking that fucker into taking you to bed..."

 

I wrench my chin out of his grasp, but his hand finds my forehead, and just like that he slams my skull down into the concrete. Pain explodes behind my eyes, and then I'm aware of something thick and dry in my mouth, the unpleasant taste of Craig's fingers as he grabs my tongue, trying to make me stick it out, sliding a blunt knife from his pocket.  
  
"Liar, liar. Liars shouldn't speak at all.."

 

The words are gruff as I scream, the sound strangled around his fingers, thrashing in his grasp. I'm seeing stars, dizzy from that slam of my head, and gagging from the taste of his skin, of dirt in my mouth, no doubt drooling all over him as he struggles to keep me still. 

 

At last, I panic. I bite down as hard as I can on those fat fingers, and Craig roars a curse, pulls them back. I throw myself away from him, retching onto the concrete, dragging myself back to my feet and over to that cabinet, trying myself to wrench that machete free.

 

It's stuck hard, buried in the wood. My heart races, pounding against my ribs. My head swims, and Craig is thundering across towards me again, and it's stuck, it's stuck, it won't come -

 

My bones make a sickening crack when he throws me against the wall, and I realise that I've barely even registered being lifted off the ground, before he's standing over me again, not holding back now. His fists come, hard and fast and unrelenting. Crack. Slap. Thud. 

 

I try and predict the blows, as dizzy and disoriented as I am, as broken and bloody, but I can barely see, and his hits land anyway, dragging only mottled gasps from my throat to mingle with his grunts. My hands flail blindly in front of my face, trying to protect it, but Craig's fists seem to whistle straight past them, and when they finally pull away, I can't see, can barely take a breath. A moment's reprieve - and then his feet begin an onslaught of kicks to my stomach, ribs and crotch, and I throw up onto the concrete, unable to keep it back a moment longer. 

 

"What the fuck is this? You disgusting little fuck.."  
  


The words haze in my mind, and he's holding my face in it, against the concrete, my hands scrabbling numbly to try and get up. He kicks me again, and I cry out, a sob, dragging myself across the concrete and curling into a ball beside the door. Craig bends down beside me, and then suddenly, he strokes a hand through my hair. 

 

"You see, love?" He says, and his voice is cruel with kindness. I flinch away from that hand. "You just need me to teach you. Don't you? Hm?"

 

He's not going to kill me? Part of me wonders, with something akin to a flicker of hope - though another part wonders if it might be easier to just let go, now. Let him hack me to pieces while someone watches on a screen. Let the pain be over. 

 

But Craig stands again, and his words are a mutter. "Pity you let it get this far. I could'a fixed you."  Another harsh kick buries itself in my back, and I jolt, the pain icy hot. I cry out, and then Craig saunters back towards his cabinet. I hear him trying to pull that machete free again.

 

_That's it._

_That's the end of you._

_Dead at the hands of a thug. You really judged it badly, this time. You've done it now._

I curl in on myself, sniffling, my knees held to my chest. If I've been hopeless before now, I haven't known it. This is it. This is true hopelessness. I can't fight him anymore. I've tried. My whole body aches and burns, and the smell of vomit is acrid in my nose. My vision swims, and settles on the locked door, so close but so far. I can't fight Craig. I tried. I really did. 

 

_I'm sorry, Sebastian._

 

I think of him, sitting only a couple of rooms from me. Maybe he's scared. Maybe they've hurt him since I last saw him. Maybe he knows I'm here. Maybe... maybe he's expecting me to save him.

 

Hot tears eke from the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, shame burning in my chest. Defeated. I've lost. I'm broken again, and this time, there's no one here to rescue me. This time, it's done. 

 

So many people, dead on my behalf. Sebastian's father. Mansfield. Donald. 

 

Soon... Lisa. Geraldine. 

 

And my Sebastian.

 

_You're just going to lay here and take it?_

 

Moriarty's voice is low and seething inside me, his presence a burning rage in my chest. I just keep my eyes closed. He can't understand. He's just rage. Rage and madness, and nothing else. 

 

_Get up. You fucking waste of space, get up and fight._

 

I can't.

 

_He'll die. Burch has no use for Sebastian._

 

I know.

 

_Then get the fuck up. Get out there._

 

Craig.

 

_You have a company of men like him. You've killed men like him. He's all fists and fury._

 

I'm broken.

 

_You're pathetic._

 

I can't.

 

_He's beaten you down again and again._

 

He's too strong.

 

_What's he scared of?_

 

Nothing.

 

_What's he scared of, you weak little prick?_

 

... Madness. 

 

_What do you have plenty of?_

 

I don't.

 

_Fine. Let me have him._

 

I can't move.

 

_Open your fucking eyes._

 

I can't.

 

_Do it for Moran._

 

I open my eyes, the effort somehow huge. I feel like I'm about to pass out. The room spins dully before my eyes. Craig is still furiously trying to free that machete from the door. 

 

I can't move. 

 

_Get up._

 

I can't.

 

_Let me._ _I've been waiting for this._

 

I can't move.

 

_I'm ready._

 

A shaky hand loosens itself from my side, and braces on the concrete. My fingers are covered in my own blood.

 

_Good._

 

I turn onto my side, slow and careful, the pain a low throb. Everywhere. A second hand finds the ground.

 

_There you go._

 

I can feel him building in my chest. The rage. The fury. Building and turning, churning and burning there. 

 

_Feet._

 

One of my shoes finds the concrete, bracing beneath my legs with trembling difficulty. I push myself up onto both, still in a crouch. 

 

_Get up._

 

I rise slowly, my hands using the wall to brace myself, careful and numb, the room still swimming in front of my eyes. As I watch, three different Craigs swim into one - and at last, he pulls that machete free. 

 

_Feel me._

 

That hand against the wall, still trembling, I let that heat in my stomach fill my chest. I let it seep down into my limbs, cloud my vision, until all I can see is rage. All I can feel, pounding through my veins, is him. The pain ebbs, to be remembered later, when my heart doesn't pound with purpose. 

 

_Sebastian._

 

I can no longer tell who wants to save him. Moriarty, or me. 

 

My hands are still coated with drying blood as they run slowly down my shirt, straightening it against my torso. My smile is still bloodied, teeth crimson as I smile - as Moriarty smiles, my eyes dark with vengeance.  His eyes. It's as though he's taking over me; like I can't control him, like I've let him in. I feel like an observer in my own body as he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, serpentine. 

 

Craig turns around, that machete in hand - and surprise momentarily eclipses his expression to see me - to see us - upright, standing so nonchalantly by the door, and with a smile none the less. 

 

"You want some more?" He growls, hint of an amused grin on his face, and that machete goes clattering down again. He pushes his shirt sleeves back over his hairy forearms. 

 

Moriarty grins that blood red smile, and steps forward. 

 

"I'm going to disembowel you." Moriarty drawls, and his voice is mine, and yet different from mine somehow. Colder, and yet excited, black eyes glittering. 

 

Craig just smiles - a daft, mocking grin that fades to something malicious as he stalks over, those fists tightening into the boulders that reduced me to a mess only minutes ago. He's thundering over, and I'm flinching, hiding away, willing Moriarty to move, to run. But we stand perfectly still, smiling serenely. It's a red flag to Craig.

 

He roars as he gets close.

 

Moriarty ducks beneath that fist, drops down swiftly and wraps his arms around Craig's legs - overbalancing him after that swing. Craig goes down hard, and then Moriarty is up again, aiming a hard kick to Craig's head. 

 

I'm in a mixture of shock and euphoria as I watch it unfold - watch Craig lay prone and dazed, blinking furiously as he tries to gather himself. Moriarty walks towards that cabinet, and unlike me, knows what he wants immediately. He returns with that mallet, whistling a slow tune that sounds suspiciously like 'Mary Had A Little Lamb', and is much too tinkly sweet for this scenario. He swings the mallet up and onto his suited shoulder, and all but skips back over to Craig.

 

I feel cold inside, watching my abuser force himself to sitting, dizzy as he staggers to his feet, fists clenched and face contorted in a furious grimace as he watches me - us. 

 

"C'mere." He spits, though it's him that moves - staggering this way and that, unsteady. 

 

"I'm not going anywhere." Moriarty says, lilting smooth. Calm. 

 

Craig lunges for us, and I screw my eyes shut as Moriarty swings down that hammer, Craig's roar cut off in mid-bellow with a sickening crunch. I open my eyes again as his bulk slams down onto the concrete, his head... his skull.. in bits. 

 

Blood, and brain, and bone splatter at my feet, at Moriarty's feet, and that maddened grin on my face does not belong to me. 

 

Silence. 

 

I turn, and look at the camera in the corner of the room.

 

Moriarty winks, and then turns, sauntering towards the door with that lazy whistle, dragging the blood spattered mallet behind him across the concrete. 

 

He's dead. Craig's dead. I killed him.

 

_I killed him, you mean._

 

Where are we going?

 

_To get your boyfriend back, you fucking idiot._

Moriarty caves in the door with two more swings of that hammer.

 

\--

 

We step out together, and slowly, a sated Moriarty begins to recede, burying himself back in the recesses of my chest. I can feel him though - it's as though he's glowing, thriving on that blood lust and rage. When I step into the empty room and glance down at my hands, they're coated in blood - either mine, or Craig's... I can't tell.

 

Where's the thug? Where's Lisa?

 

I let that mallet clatter down onto the floorboards, and wander dazedly towards the second door - the one where I want them to be. Sebastian. Geraldine. 

 

I want to get out of here. The smell of death lives here, ruminates in the air around Donald's abandoned body. Maybe... Maybe I've passed the test. Maybe they'll just let me go. 

 

_Don't be foolish._

 

The pain is beginning to come back, after Moriarty's adrenaline fuelled attack. My ribs ache, my spine feels bruised, my body battered. I'm bleeding from the nose, the mouth, and I must have a cut on my face somewhere, because it doesn't seem to stop flowing. I wipe my face on my sleeve, my head pounding as I force myself to walk towards that door. Towards Sebastian. Not far now. 

 

My nails are thick with drying crimson as I reach for the handle, and put the weight behind my shoulder as I force the door open, staggering into a darkened room. I'm expecting to see Sebastian and Geraldine, Lisa too, back in their chairs and waiting for their executions.. but the room is dark, cold somehow. Empty, except for the man standing with his back to me, a hand to his ear. An earpiece. He's wearing a suit. He's not another thug.

 

Watching a screen - the room I've just left, where Craig lays broken on the floor, in a pool of blood. Orchestrating my pain. My death.

 

 

Something ripples in my stomach.

_Burch._

And then Sebastian turns around. And he smiles.

 

"So good of you to join, me, M."

And my world comes crashing down around me.

_\--_

 


	35. The Costar

"What?"

 

Even inside me, Moriarty sits up, stunned. My voice is just a breath, soft and disbelieving, all the fight seeming to go out of me, just like that.

 

My mind is whirring. It can't be. It can't be. He can't be. It doesn't make any sense.

 

"That was quite the fight." Sebastian says, gesturing lazily to the screen, and I'm blinking at him, my lips parted in shock, unable to comprehend any of this. 

 

Sebastian is Burch? 

 

A long silence passes between us, and I'm watching him dumbly, trying to comprehend this. My heart thuds, that pain fading to an insignificant throb. 

 

All this... everything we've been through... Everything we've done, said.

 

_He's fucked me._

"You look so betrayed. It's adorable." He laughs, and turns away again, a couple of swift clicks on the keyboard shutting off that video feed. Craig's body disappears. 

 

All this time... All this time...

 

"It can't be." I say, almost desperately, though the evidence is all there. That lazy smile, the earpiece, the suit.

 

Burch has set out to destroy me. To turn every part to dust. 

 

"I _had_  to join in." He muses, and leans back against the desk, folding arms loosely over his chest. "Falling in love with your costar. The big rescue from Craaaaig. Oh, he was only too eager to help out.."  
  
 _Craig? Help out?_

I blink, heart in my throat. I feel sick. I feel so sick. Sebastian just smiles in mock sympathy.

"You got into that one yourself, of course. I knew you'd gravitate to him if I put him in that bar." He tilts his head at me. "Drawn to dangerous men, aren't you, sweetheart?"

 

"...No." I breathe, but it's less an answer, more my desperate denial of all of this. Of Sebastian's involvement... of not knowing him at all... 

 

His father, his mother... Was all that fake, too? 

 

All of it, orchestrated, faked. Acted. 

 

_No. Not him._

_I love him. He loves me. We were going to be happy._

 

"Cast you. Flutter my eyelashes... It was easy, really."

 

Those traitorous lips. Those blue eyes, so heated on mine. Fake. All of it. Fake.

_It can't be. I won't believe it._

 

"No... Sebastian..."

 

"Not my real name."

 

_I won't believe it. I can't... think._

 

"You're a famous actor..."  My head is spinning, and I have to put my hands against my temples, screw my eyes shut to try and stop it. "I'd... I'd heard of you..."

 

_Think logically._

Moriarty's words are a warning. A prompt.

_This doesn't make sense._

 

"So funny. Watching you give it all away. Give it all to me. Your body. Your business..."

 

He's turning away, tapping something else on that keyboard, 

 

"Mansfield.." I croak, and Sebastian chuckles. He glances back at me.

 

"Oh yes. He was _very_  loyal you know. Right to the very end. Didn't give me a thing."

 

I grit my teeth, but my brain is still a mess, unable to figure it all out. It just... it doesn't work. Nobody can be that good. To plan months, years in advance.. Sebastian's whole acting career... 

 

He slips a gun from his pocket, fiddles with it nonchalantly as he turns back to me. I don't even step back, still stiff with shock and disbelief. I just watch numbly, cogs turning in my head. 

 

_Everything I gave you. Everything we had together.._

 

I know it was real. 

 

I saw the pain in his eyes. His father, his friends... I saw it. When he told me he loved me, too..

 

"You told me..." I say, my voice wavering. "You told me yesterday that you'd never leave. That we'd be together forever."

 

I'm lying. He told me he loved me. He never said he wouldn't go. 

 

But Sebastian is nodding along, smiling wanly, mocking me. 

 

"And you _believed_  all of it." He pokes a bullet into the chamber, spins it until it clicks. Points it at me. Russian roulette. 

 

Something strange settles in my chest. Just a... sense. 

 

_No I didn't. Because you never said it._

 

"...You... you asked me to..."   I let my eyes slip shut, like I'm in pain - which I suppose I should be, if I let it in.

 

If I choose to believe him. Which I won't. I can't. I'm testing him.

 

"...We were going to get married." I finish, choked.

 

He keeps nodding, that gun aimed at my chest, smile frozen on his face. 

 

"Had to keep you close, didn't I?"

 

That strange flutter in my chest surges again. Something akin to triumph. Relief. 

 

_You're lying. We've never even spoken about that._

And then;

 

_This isn't you._

 

My eyes roam down his body. They settle on the earpiece, the headset. The slight bulk of his shirt, beneath the suit jacket. His eyes are focused, his hand unshaking, even as he holds the gun.

 

_But he's acting. I'd know it anywhere._

 

Realisation hits me like a truck, the relief joining after a moment, and then tailing off into fear.

 

_It's not him. It's not him, but they're making him somehow._

 

There's something strapped to him. 

 

They've got him rigged to explode. A bomb jacket. It must be... His suit looks ill fitting, somehow. He's being talked through the confrontation, via earpiece. Made to pretend, like the actor he is.

_My God, that's brilliant. I'll have to use that one day._

My heart thuds, but my mind is beginning to calm, that sickening fear; everything I know pulled out from beneath me... it's calmed. 

_It's not him. He's there somewhere._

 

I speak to the gun, rather than to my lover, calm and steady. 

 

"...What's your favourite colour, Sebastian?"

 

That grin stays where it is. But there's a pause for a moment. Our puppeteer doesn't know what to say.

 

"What?"

 

"I said." I repeat, slow. "What's your favourite colour?"

 

_You told me at McGann's, right before Craig arrived to break up our little party. It's the colour of your childhood bedroom walls._

 

I think I see a flicker of something in Sebastian's eyes. Something akin to relief, behind that acted front. He knows that I know. He knows that I've figured it out. 

 

_Will he fire the gun on command? Will he kill me to save himself, if that's what it takes?_

 

Shared understanding passes between us, quiet and unidentified. Our puppeteer remains oblivious, and Sebastian's next words are scoffing. I can almost hear them through the earpiece myself.

 

"I'm pointing a gun between your eyes, and you're asking me what my favourite colour is? Would you prefer I said red? Like our love? Black? Like my  _heart_?"

 

"Green." I say calmly. My gaze flicks away, upwards, finding the camera in the corner of the room. I turn to face it - and smile, wiggle my fingers in a wave. "His favourite colour is green, Burch."

 

Moriarty grins inside me, stretches like a cat. 

 

_You stupid fucker. You tried to be too clever._

 

"Now," I say, teeth gritted as that rage crests over me in a wave. "Let him go."

 

\--

 

There's a long pause, a long and drawn out silence, and my gaze flits between that camera and Sebastian, waiting for my answer from the puppeteer. 

 

After a few long minutes of nothingness, Sebastian lets the gun drop. It's as though something has cracked; he's breaking that disguise. I'm not sure if he's been given 'permission', or if he's just had enough. He reaches up, and yanks that earpiece from his ear, tossing the whole thing onto the floor with a clatter. When he looks at me, there's a kind of ragged exhaustion in his gaze, mixed with relief, and a fear that makes my chest tighten with rage. I hurry over to him, and my hands run down his chest anxiously, feeling the vest strapped beneath. 

 

_You strapped a bomb vest to a veteran, you sick fuck. His friends were blown to bits, and you strap him up in bombs._

 

"You knew it wasn't me..." He says after a moment, almost hoarse, and I'm busying myself with urgently tugging open his shirt, running my hands over the masking tape and teflon, trying to find anything... an offswitch, a release pull... anything to disable the fucking thing..  
  
"Of course I did." I reply, matter-of-fact, not looking up from my task. "I know you." A beat, and then; "Who put this on you?"

 

"I didn't see him. Burch, I mean."  I glance up at him, and he goes on, frowning. "...But they talked about him. The thugs."

 

"He wouldn't have wanted to risk anything...."

 

"Is Craig dead?" Sebastian asks, with a kind of urgent gruffness, his own hands finding my face, as gentle as they are, still making me wince. He saw that video. Burch made him watch. He saw M take over. 

 

I don't want to think about what I must look like, still covered in blood and the evidence of Craig's fists.

 

I just nod, and then the words burst out of me, exasperated, urgent hands still running over that vest. "I can't... fucking... find anything...!" It's tight, secure. Dangerous.

 

Sebastian nods, and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Understanding, even accepting of his own fate - which makes me angry. Then his face sets as he remembers, jaw tight in his own rage. "...Donald... he's.."

 

"Don't worry about that, right now. Worry about-"

 

I'm cut off by the door opening with a low creak. Sebastian's arm circles my waist quickly, roughly shoving me behind him. Protecting me. But I step forward again, my mouth falling open at the sight of the grinning, leering idiot leaning in the doorway. 

 

This... this, is Burch. I can see it in the eyes.

 

But we know him as John Honsson.

 

\--

 

"...You.."

 

I breathe, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. Next to me, Sebastian blinks quickly, trying to understand. His voice is confused - almost like he's expecting the director to be another captured victim.  
  
"...John?"

 

Honsson steps inside, smiles, and locks the door behind him. 

 

"...You didn't recognise his voice?" I ask Sebastian without looking at him, keeping my eyes on Honsson, and my lover lifts the gun, pointing it at our director. 

 

"He... warped it. Something. I don't know."

 

"What can I say?" Honsson muses, spreading out his hands. His voice drops into a syrupy drawl, and he winks. "I have a passion for theatricality."

 

Sebastian and I say nothing. I reach over, taking his hand. Sebastian just clicks off the safety on that gun.

 

John Honsson. World renowned director. The one I'd been so eager to work with. 

 

Honsson, apologising, face wracked with guilt, for making me go home with Craig. For pushing me back into danger. 

 

Honsson... orchestrating all of this. Mansfield's tortured murder. 

 

His words through Sebastian's mouth. 

_He was very loyal you know. Right to the very end. Didn't give me a thing._

It's almost as unbelievable as Sebastian being Burch. But not quite. 

 

There's no mistaking those eyes. I feel like before now, I've been talking to the director through a disguise. 

 

Even earlier today - acting so concerned that I was rushing off; that we had to reschedule. All an act...

 

Perhaps he was a better thespian than all of us.

 

"I actually told him to shoot you." Honsson smiles, speaking almost conspiratorially to me,  not looking bothered in the slightest that Sebastian could blow his head off with the gun pointing at him. He stretches, amused. "Just in the leg, or something. Keep you still. But he didn't have the balls, did you pet?"

 

A muscle jumps in Sebastian's jaw, and he glares at our director. A long moment passes, and then Honsson takes out a remote, waggling it around. 

 

"You might want to put that down. Love to blow that pretty face sky high."

 

Sebastian doesn't move, still and composed as a statue with that gun. Army practice. A beat passes. I reach up after a moment, and place a hand on his forearm. 

 

I can't lose him again. I've lost him already today, in my mind - over and over again. Even once more, when I thought he was Burch.

 

It takes a moment, but Sebastian lowers the weapon.   
  
"....How long?" I say, voice low, rage bubbling in my chest. "How long have you been orchestrating this?"

 

Craig's abuse. Months of it, endured just to get closer to Honsson.

 

_'I knew you'd gravitate to him if I put him in that bar. Drawn to dangerous men, aren't you, sweetheart?'_

 

 

He must have been laughing at me. Delighted by those bruises. 

 

Honsson just smiles, walks over to take a seat on a lone chair in a corner. He crosses his ankles, laces his fingers in his lap. At ease - the picture of nonchalance. He thinks he's won. 

 

"Well," He begins, a musing tone, eyes heavenward as Sebastian and I stand in the centre of the room watching him, Sebastian still rigged to explode. "I admit, this was never part of the plan."

 

He toys with the remote as he speaks, so careless with it. The slightest move, a twitch of his thumb, and Sebastian could be blown to pieces. And me, along with him. We're still holding hands. 

 

Burch... Honsson... can't seem to resist continuing after a moment. 

 

"I knew you wanted out of the industry." He waves a slender hand.  "I thought I'd give you the opportunity."

 

I watch him, lips pursed flat. My heart thuds, a sense of urgency about this whole thing. He's holding Sebastian's life in his hands. I squeeze my costar's fingers tighter. 

 

 

We've got a gun, and yet we're powerless. By the time Sebastian could pull the trigger, Honsson...  _Burch_.. could blow us both to smithereens.

 

"You're a director." I say, clipped and low. "You're famous."

 

"Amazing how many awards you can get with just an ounce of power and money." Honsson smiles, tapping idle fingertips on the arm of that chair. "Did you look at any of those? Three of them are from the last year. Two of the others, I made up completely." He laughs, and there's a triumphant joy in it - a mocking jeer at those who take this business seriously. "Bribe and blackmail are your best friends. Convincing other directors to let me take the credit. Do you know, not a single member of the crews for those films will remember seeing me on set, and yet they gush about how amazing it was to work on a 'Honsson film' in the papers. It's quite something."

 

"You've planned this." I say, quiet and flat.  
  
"Only for a year or so. You seemed to be getting far too comfortable on your perch. I wanted to offer you something  _better._ "

 

"Then why-"  
  
"Because you  _didn't leave._ " His voice drops down suddenly into a furious hiss, face contorting into something incandescent with rage. And then - it's gone again, and that easy smile is back. Though his fingers have tightened on that remote. My heart judders a little faster, my fingers tight around Sebastian's hand. Honsson sighs. "I thought it was going so well. We were all playing our parts. I was planning on letting the film reach halfway, and dropping out unexpectedly. Letting you go on with a new director into a new life with your..." He gestures with wiggling fingers, mocking us. "...New love."

 

Those hands drop with an angry slap back onto the chair arms, and Honsson goes on. My gaze flicks anxiously to that remote.

 

"But you couldn't do it,  _could_  you?"

 

I purse my lips flat, and say nothing. I'm wondering where the others are. Geraldine, and Lisa. The thugs. My phone vibrates in my pocket - Elaine again, no doubt.

 

Nobody will believe that it was him. He'll get away scot free.

 

_A famous director and a crime boss. Fame and notoriety. Clean living. He's achieved everything I wanted. Everything I suffered for..._

 

"You couldn't let it go." He shakes his head, that grin irritated and humourless. "You were running things, still. Talking to your 'people'. Stealing my jobs. Even after all I gave you."

 

"...They told me that Burch... that  _you_  were looking for me.."

 

I begin, and the roar explodes out of him so suddenly that both Sebastian and I jump.  
  
 _"BECAUSE I TOLD THEM TO!"_

 

His gritted teeth and flared lips glisten with drool in his rage, and he glares at us, growling the words.

 

"I thought the threat of your old enemies might push you further into safety, but perhaps I flattered you with having  _intelligence._ "

 

He sits back heavily in his chair, and slowly, as the seconds tick by, his expression becomes neutral again. The fury in his eyes betrays his careful nonchalance. 

 

"I thought another spell with Craig might mellow you, but then  _of course._.." He gestures a melodramatic hand in Sebastian's direction, tone mocking and seething. "Your prince charming had to save the day! After all the effort I went to, finding those filthy videos to send him, you  _animals_."

 

He slumps down in his chair, and that remote sits on the arm. If I could get closer.... if I could reach out and snatch it...

 

"You really..." Honsson drawls, like it's of no consequence, rubbing his eyes almost tiredly. "You gave me no choice." A sigh. He rolls his eyes. "Knew you'd come running if I stole your playmates away."

 

"...You killed Donald."  Sebastian says, and the words are flat, vibrating with rage. His hand is tight on mine. "You killed him. Needlessly. A star in your own film."  
  
"Ooh, because I can't bear the idea of anything happening to  _my stars_!" Honsson trills, and then grabs that remote, waving it about. I grow still. "I don't give a fuck about any of you, you self-important prick."

 

_He's angry because he's been planning my exit for over a year, thinking he's being clever, and instead it's come down to guns and bomb vests._

"You're a whole different kettle of fucking fish." Honsson goes on, self-involved, still gesturing avidly with that remote. His eyes are on Sebastian with distaste. "The amount of shit I went through with your agent to cast you in this film."

 

I frown, confused. Why did it matter? Why did it need to be Sebastian? I squeeze his fingers, but he's glaring at Honsson, bemusement in his own eyes. Burch goes on.

 

"Couldn't just have anyone, you see. Wanted one of my own. On the inside, just in case. Report back on what he -"  He jabs a finger at me. "- was up to. But can any of the fuckers act?"

 

I glance at Sebastian, uneasy and confused. 

 

"Of course they fucking can't! And then someone says to me, hey boss, doesn't Albert Moran's kid act? Might be able to get him to join the ranks. And I said - Albert Moran's kid?" He tilts his head mock thoughtfully.  "Didn't I blow him up years ago?"

 

My heart judders to a stop. Sebastian's fingers loosen on mine in the shock. Something cold drops into my stomach, and I blink at Honsson, and then look between him and Sebastian, my lover's face suddenly unreadable with the pain of those memories. Of what this might mean. 

 

"...What?" He manages eventually, and Honsson looks at him for a second, before hooting with laughter. He recrosses his legs. 

 

"Oh, yeah. Oh, sweetie, you didn't know?" He's all but laying across the chair now, legs draped over one arm, gesturing with that remote. "Old Albert didn't know when to quit, but I don't offer a fucking retirement plan, you know? And you can't knock off your own... doesn't inspire confidence in the younger men..."

 

He's watching Sebastian for his reaction, tongue pressing against the backs of his front teeth in his glee. 

 

"...You thought if you killed his son..."  I finish for him, horrified and Honsson points at me and winks. Right answer.

 

" - Then he might finally calm down and fuck off home. Course, that didn't work, but I didn't mind because it worked in my favour. Got a shit ton of new arms deals that year. Brits don't like having their squaddies blown to bits, it seems."

 

He waggles that remote again with a wink, and Sebastian steps forward, his expression set with rage. I have to put a hand on his chest to stop him - to remind him that Honsson still holds all the cards here. 

 

"Sebastian-"  
  
"My friends died in that car." He spits at Honsson, his fists clenched, those blue eyes raging. Furious, upset. It's all I can do to hold him back.

 

His friends. His colleagues. It broke him, Elaine said. His father, so soon after...

 

Honsson just gives another hoot of laughter, and claps his hands, sitting up straight.

 

"I know! And it didn't even work!"  He smiles, and looks at me instead, patronizing. "So I just sent the old codger to good old Jim, instead. Owe you one, buddy."

 

"You're sick." I spit, and then turn my attention back to Sebastian, trying to push him back. He's stiff with his rage, immovable under my hands. It must take a lot of restraint not to point that gun and fire it. But it'd kill us both. Kill us all.

 

"Aaaaaaaanyway." Honsson sings. "Soon realised when I met the little prick that he didn't have a clue about me anyway. So that fucking plan was dead in the water." He sighs, but rolls his shoulders. "But regardless... Was all going  _so well._ To my surprise. You crazy kids fell in loooove."

Sebastian is still seething next to me. I can see his body, tense, coiled like a viper ready to strike.

 

"Pity it wasn't enough to keep Jimmy here from going back to his old tricks."

 

Honsson falls silent at last, a smile still on his face as he taps that remote absentmindedly against his lips. I step forward, in front of Sebastian. I must look a state - still covered in blood. Still bleeding, bruised from Craig's onslaught. My voice is flat. Cold.

 

"What do you want?" 

 

Honsson tilts his head at me, analysing me. And then he smiles again, almost confusedly, as if it's obvious. There's cruelty in his eyes. I recognise that look from Craig.

 

"You wanted it all, didn't you?" He drawls, watching me closely. "The criminal empire, and the film career? The movie star boyfriend? A _family?_ You wanted to combine the two worlds, but my love, that was never the deal."

 

"What. Do. You. Want?" I repeat, teeth gritted, and Honsson smiles, and withdraws something else from his pocket. 

 

"I want you to choose."

 

It takes me a moment to realise that it's a second remote. 

 

"Bring her in, booooys." Honsson says into his headset, and then one of the doors is kicked open, and Viana dragged inside, still thrashing, fighting tooth and claw against the thugs that hold her. She's wearing what she was when I left her - but there's a bomb vest strapped over her clothes. Her eyes widen when she spots me, and then Sebastian, flickering to confusion when she sees Honsson too, and she stops struggling when the men bring her to a stop beside me, breathless and uncertain.

 

"Sir?"

 

Honsson holds up those remotes from where he sits, one by one. He's pouting comically, mocking me. 

 

"Business? Mm? Or..."  He waggles the second remote. Sebastian's remote.  "Pleasure?"

 

"Burch-"

 

"Future, or past?"

 

"You can't-"

 

_"Choose."_

 

\--


	36. The Choice

"No."

 

My answer is definitive, my hand still tight on Sebastian's, and I can feel Viana's eyes on me, both frightened and uncertain as she tries to understand what she's been dragged into. 

 

Honsson raises an eyebrow. "...No?"

 

"No. I won't choose, and I won't let you... do this. Too many people have died on my account already."

 

_This isn't fair._

 

"...Sir?"  Viana says, and there's something in her eyes, something akin to determination. She wants to help. Even strapped to a fucking bomb, she's still trying to help me. I never deserved this kind of loyalty. 

 

"Oh, he won't choose." Honsson says matter-of-factly, and then throws up his arms, theatrically sarcastic. "That's alright then, isn't it! Shall we all go out and get coffee?"

 

"Let her go." Sebastian growls, more to the thugs holding Viana than to Honsson - though he's never even met her before. That protective streak runs deep.

 

"Oh, how  _adorable_." Honsson laughs, and points at Sebastian with that remote. "You'd have made your old man proud, you know."  
  
"You don't get to talk about him." Sebastian spits, and he's furious again, pacing towards Honsson, who puts his thumb over the central button on the remote, and holds it aloft. Threatening.

 

"Ah, ah,  _ah_..."

 

Sebastian stills, and I take his hand again, trying to ease him back.

 

"Even if I chose," I say, my voice low. I have no intention of blowing anyone up, today. "...We'd all die in here. No matter who it was."

 

"You know. that's a great point." Honsson announces with exaggerated condescension, and then gestures to his thugs with a flick of his wrist. They've been waiting for the signal, because two of the three lunge for Sebastian, and seize his arms.

 

"Sebastian!"

 

I scrabble to try and keep him with me, his hand wrenched from mine as he struggles, angrily trying to throw him off. "Get... the fuck off.. me-"

 

They start dragging him towards the door, but I throw myself after them, grabbing onto him until one of them knocks me off. I don't dare to try anything else, lest I accidentally trigger that vest, and Honsson's hand finds my shoulder, soft and patronising. But a vice grip.

 

"Don't worry. We've got a nice little reinforced room down the hall. One for your lovely lady, too."

 

I've been so caught up in Sebastian that I haven't even noticed that Viana has been marched out too, the thug behind her. Sebastian looks over his shoulder at me, expression earnest. He speaks with chagrin, the force of keeping those idiots from dragging him off showing in the strained muscles.

 

"I love you -" He manages, and my throat is tight. I take a step closer, but then he's gone, dragged off, the door slamming behind him. It echoes throughout the empty room, my heart thudding, and Honsson stands by the closed door, grinning. 

 

_I didn't even say it back._

 

"Aw. How  _sweet_."

 

My cheeks flush a furious red, and I turn to face the 'director', teeth gritted and my fists clenched by my sides. He pouts at me, mocking.

 

"Let me guess. Poor old Viana isn't going to get a look in?"

 

I hate being so powerless. The gun still lies on the floor, and it might as well be made of marshmallows, for all I can do with it. 

 

My heart sinks for Viana. My Viana, who doesn't stand a chance up against Sebastian. Loyal, beautiful, excitable Viana. One of the best I've ever had. 

 

"I won't kill her."

 

"I will." Honsson shoots back matter of factly, and saunters back to the desk, those remotes in his top shirt pocket. He faces away from me, smiling as he taps away on the keyboard. "...How about a little extra incentive?"

 

I frown, and a new picture fills the screen - a live image. My headquarters, in Central London. My guards stand outside, chatting in front of the towering glass fronted building. 

 

_He knows its mine._

 

"If you choose to save her, you get to keep this bad boy." Honsson gestures to the screen, that grin almost wistful. "Everything you've worked for. All you've built... All your men... I bet there are thousands of them in there, aren't there? All your documents... your technology..."

 

I grit my teeth, purse my lips flat. 

 

"...And if I don't?"

 

Honsson just gestures with his hands, spreading them wide. "...Ka-booooom."

 

My eyes flick back to the building on the screen, and then I sneer at him, Moriarty defiant in my chest. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't be able to get close. The men wouldn't admit you in a thousand years, fake director or not."

 

"Fake director? Sweetheart, I may have faked it on all the other films, but this one was a masterpiece. I really got into it, actually."

 

"Maybe you should make a career out of it." I scoff, sarcastically, and Honsson just smiles. 

 

"...Your men didn't need to admit me, darling. Your friend Mansfield. Where is he?"

 

"Dead."  My voice is flat. Scathing. 

 

_I'll avenge you somehow, Mansfield. I promise. Somehow._

 

"Mm. But where  _is he?_ "

 

I'm confused for a moment, until Viana's words from the car come back to me. They've taken Mansfield back to headquarters.

 

His body, dissected and pieced back together. 

 

_They've planted the explosives inside him._

 

_And now he's waiting, a time bomb inside headquarters._

 

The sudden realisation must be visible on my face, because Honsson laughs, clapping his hands together.

 

"The penny drops." He turns back to the screen, and taps it with a finger. "Our Viana and Mansfield. Connected, as they were supposed to be. You blow her up, you blow him up. Aaaaand, your big glass house too."

 

Of course. Of course, it couldn't be so simple.

 

The man I love, or the business I've built. One life, or the lives of thousands. Whoever's in that building, as well as Viana. Whoever might be nearby.

 

Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. People like Sebastian's father - good people, in shady jobs. Never going home to their families.

 

Sebastian wouldn't want that. He'd fight for it. 

 

But I can't lose him, either. I just can't. I'm not strong enough.

 

_Yes you are._

 

"...Is there another option?" I try, my voice numb, emotionless. I stand, defeated in the centre of the room, Honsson almost vibrating with his glee, those remotes still in his top pocket. He taps a few more buttons on the keyboard, and then two new livestreams appear - both filmed from the corner of concrete floored rooms. 

 

Sebastian is in one. Viana in another. Still in their bomb vests. 

 

Sebastian paces, agitated, running his hands through his hair. Viana sits, still in the centre. Calm. Resigned. 

 

Honsson looks almost affectionately at the screens, and then smiles back at me, seemingly bemused. "Another option?"

 

"Wouldn't it just be easier to kill me?"

 

Moriarty screams in defiance. I ignore him, and continue, flat.

 

"You'd keep the headquarters, and everyone in it. All the work. Sebastian gets to keep acting. You get to keep Viana's knowhow. She runs the place. Not me."

 

Honsson arches an eyebrow at me, amused. I go on.   
  
"The only thing standing in your way now, is me."

 

"You're forgetting, of course." He drawls, leaning against that desk. "That your men will never be loyal to me."

 

I shake my head. "My men follow M. They don't know who that is."

 

Silence from Honsson. He's thinking about it. 

 

"If you kill Viana, end my headquarters... I'll come after you. If you lay a hand on Sebastian, I'll come after you. I won't stop until you're dead."

 

I bend down, pick up that gun and spin the chamber. 

 

"But kill me now, and that's it. It's all yours. You can even keep the safety of your Honsson cover. Put this out there as a horrific tragedy. Broadcast the film in my memory."

 

"...Why?" Honsson asks me, tilting his head like I'm amusing him. His arms are folded over his chest. He looks at the gun I hold out to him. "Why on Earth would you give your own life?"

 

"I've gone soft." I say, simply. 

 

Honsson just looks at that gun. 

 

"You want me to let them go. Take you, not them. This is some kind of selfless suicide, is it?"  
  
"Something like that."

 

It's entirely selfish. I can't live without Sebastian, now.

 

And I can't live knowing that I pushed a button and killed thousands of people. I'm not that man anymore.

 

I'm not M.

 

_Yes you are._

 

No.

 

_We're one and the same, you and I._

 

No.

 

Honsson watches me for a long few moments, and when he smiles at me, it's a sneer. 

 

"You're pathetic." He says, and his voice is like Moriarty's in my head, his mouth turned down at the corners in distaste. "You're so weak."

 

I'm still holding that gun out, extended in my hand. 

 

_Shoot him. Kill him now. He's not holding the remotes._

I've only got one bullet. By the time I've fired six times, he could reach for them and detonate.

 

_Take the risk._

 

I can't play with people's lives.

 

_Who are you?_

 

I'm not you.

 

"I should kill both of them." Honsson sneers, snapping me back to reality. "Blow it all up, and watch you crumble. Show you just how much you've rotted from the inside out."

 

He could. He could push both of those buttons, and watch my world implode.

 

"I'm offering you the business." I say carefully. "I'm giving you everything. Me, dead. Just.. just fucking take it."

 

"There's a reason I didn't just kill you, Jim, darling." Honsson says, and reaches for the remotes. We're both facing away from the door.

 

I could swear, out of the corner of my eye, that I see it open. No doubt, another thug coming to watch.

 

Honsson holds those remotes in each hand, waggling them at me. "I wanted it to be cleverer than that. Any thug can stab. Craig could have done that, for me. In fact... I wouldn't have been too bothered if he'd finished the job." He laughs, a hoot. "Laid you out with the hammer. At least it would have been  _poetic_." His smile fades, and he grimaces at me, disgusted. "You're not who I thought you were. I thought you'd fucking scream and thrash for your business. I thought you'd watch that fucker  _die_  for it."

 

He throws his hands up, frustrated.

 

"Who are you? Because you're not M!"

 

I take a step towards him, holding up my hands slowly, those remotes waving around so precariously. I speak quickly.

 

"I'm not. I'm not M. I haven't been M in years -"  
  
"You're weak! You're disgusting! You've fucking... you've ruined everything."

 

He's getting more and more aggravated, driven mad by his ruined plot - years in the planning, and thwarted by unexpected selflessness. Love.

  
"Burch-" I try, but he interrupts, seething. His eyes are wild, and he points at me with Viana's remote.  
  
"This was supposed to ruin you. I was going to watch you scream for your business, and instead you ask me to  _kill you?"_

_What can I say? Even fucking Moriarty loves him._

 

_And I can't kill so many. Not after seeing that pain in Sebastian's eyes, after his father.._

 

"Just-" My hands are still held up in surrender, and I edge closer, heart thudding. 

 

"You're nothing!"

 

He's seething, screaming now, and I'm easing nearer, planning to grab at those remotes. He's volatile... The slightest wrong move... an accidental click...

 

_I love you too, Sebastian. I should have shouted after you. Screamed it._

 

"Honsson, please -"

 

"You've ruined it! You're pathetic! Weak, spineless fucking -"

 

The words tail off into a startled yell, and he's thrown to one side as something barrels into him. I grab at those remotes, and it takes me a moment to realise that the bulk is Geraldine - that she's crept in somehow and launched herself at him. The older woman clings to Honsson's back as he spins, staggering this way and that as she claws at his face with a scream. Those remotes go clattering down onto the concrete, and I lunge for them, managing to catch them as the gun goes skittering away - though I wind myself as I slam hard into the floor in the process.

 

"Geraldine!" I call, scrambling across the floor, but Honsson has thrown her off in a deft and violent move. She's landed hard on the concrete on her back, and he's straddling her,  his hands around her throat. "Get off her!"

 

My voice is a ragged yell, and I lunge for that gun, trying to keep the remotes still in one hand, terrified of setting them off. I can hear Geraldine choking, struggling, eyes bulging and face red as Honsson strangles her with slender, strong fingers, eyes maddened and seething. His teeth are gritted, his face contorted with rage. My fingers close around that gun - and distantly, I hear screams, thin and tinny from Honsson's headset. They're so loud that he has to release one hand to tear it from his head.

 

 _"No! No, don't...!"_  It sounds like, men roaring in panic, and then Honsson's face is snapping around to look at those screens. Geraldine rasps and coughs beneath him.

 

"Moran-"  The director roars, the beginnings of a command to his men - but before I can even turn to the screens myself, the world explodes before my eyes and we're blown backwards into an almost slow-motion blast of light and smoke, screams and dust.  

 

 He's detonated.

 

\--


	37. The Awakening

I'm floating.

 

Floating on a hazy bed of white, sleep filtering through all my senses, a bizarre kind of bliss. I see nothing; hear nothing.

 

There is no M. There is no Jim.

 

I'm weightless; just drifting along beside existence. 

 

Only white, only clean and bright and soft, a faint ringing in lieu of sound, and if I'm dead, then death isn't all that bad, after all. 

 

What happened to me? I wonder distantly, and find that my mind won't make up the missing pieces. It doesn't matter. 

 

I'm peaceful; soft light and a happy warmth in my chest, and I can't remember why. I hear a voice, low and amused, and it's Sebastian, my Sebastian, laying beside me.

 

His arm encircles my waist, and I let him pull me against him, though I can't see him, can't see or hear a thing, just feel him there. 

 

Something sharp, painful seems to catch in my chest - just the flicker of some kind of memory, and I wish I could remember how I got here. 

 

Something... about Sebastian?

 

And then it hits me all at once.

  
I sit bolt upright in the hospital bed, gasping and choking, coughing on the dust that tickles my throat. I'm groggy, and my head spins for a moment, thrashing in the tangled bedsheets.

 

_Where am I, where am I, let me go -_

 

"Jim!"

 

Elaine's voice is concerned, and warm, soft hands are on my arms, pushing me back down into the bed. The noise comes all at once - a cacophony of sounds; the frantic beeping of machines around me, the quiet hustle and bustle of the corridor outside, birds singing and lorries honking horns outside my window. My heart is racing, and when I open my eyes, Elaine is leaning over my bed, watching me anxiously, keeping me still. Everything is white - the floor, the walls, even the sheets on the bed I lay in. I'm wearing some kind of paper gown, and it crackles against my skin - and when I look down at my wrists, I find them full of tubes and needles, connecting my to my machines.

 

A single set of metal handcuffs keep me shackled to my bed. 

 

"Okay?" Elaine soothes quietly, and rubs my arms, and I drag my gaze back to her blearily, heart still racing. I'm confused. What happened? How -

 

_The bomb vest._

 

The memories rush back all at once, and I can't breathe, looking around myself frantically as if expecting to find the debris there. And then my eyes search Elaine's desperately, my heart in my mouth. 

"Sebastian?" 

 

The word is a croak, my mouth like sandpaper, and I see the pain flicker through her gaze. I shake my head, shake it hard, my eyes hot and something suddenly cold in my chest - but then she speaks, and her voice is soft. Reassuring.

 

"He's alive."

 

Those words have never been so beautiful.

 

\--

 

When she's satisfied that I've stopped thrashing, Elaine sits down carefully in the chair at the side of my bed, and I look down at myself shakily, trying to figure out how I'm injured. All of me seems to be here. Not that I care very much about that at the moment. 

 

"...Alive." I say, as Elaine pours me a plastic cup of water, and then helps me take a drink. I swallow, trying to clear my hoarse throat. "...You said... 'alive'..."

 

"He's very battered." She says gently, and I wonder, looking at her tired eyes, when she last slept. "But he's in one piece."  She sits back down, and I nod, grateful. I'm still disoriented. Confused.

 

"But he... the bomb vest..."

  
"It blew out the wall." Elaine agrees solemnly, and I frown again, blinking a few times. Even my eyes feel dry. My head throbs. 

 

"I don't understand."

 

She frowns at me for a moment, and then eyes my IV bag, as if it might be responsible. 

 

"It was the girl." She says after a moment. "The girl blew herself up. Not... You didn't think...?"

 

_Viana._

 

"...Oh.."

 

My voice is barely there. Hollow with shock. Grief settles in my chest; thick and heavy. The girl that saved us all. The girl that gave everything for me. 

 

Loyalty doesn't even begin to cover it.

 

_I'm sorry, Viana. I'm so, so sorry._

 

"She was one of yours." Elaine guesses softly, and I close my eyes, turn my face away in reply. 

 

"She was one of the best."  

 

Half the words are lost in the broken rasp of my voice, and Elaine pours me another cup of water, presses it gently against my fingertips. 

 

"They can't find anything on her." Elaine says, and I shake my head, not able to look at her. My eyes feel hot, fixed on the window. They're together now - Viana and Mansfield. 

 

"They wouldn't. I made sure she was untraceable."  I shake my head, infinitesimally. "...She did it for me. To try and save us."

 

Rage at Honsson, at Burch, fills my chest. Elaine reaches for my hand, and squeezes, and I look at her, my voice flat and angry suddenly.

 

"...Honsson. Is he dead?"

 

She hesitates, and I frown at her. "...What?"

 

"He's here, too. On the next ward." A pause, and then; "...They think it was you, Jim. That you tried to kill all of them. That you killed Donald..."

 

She looks worried, but I just keep my eyes on the window, feeling numb. Guilty, in my relief about Sebastian.

 

"You're on every news station. They... know who you are."

 

_The world knows that I'm M._

I look down at the cuff as it clinks against the bar of the bed, and Elaine watches me with pity in her eyes. Concern. 

 

"It was Honsson." I say, leaning back on the pillows. I close my eyes, exhausted again. "...He planned it all. All this time. He's my rival. His real name is-"

"Burch." Elaine breathes, shocked and I open one eye wearily. She goes on. "...Albert's old boss."

 

I give a wry, bitter smile and let the silence fall. After a moment, I turn my face away on the pillow. "...I want to see Sebastian."

 

"I thought you might."

 

Elaine has slid a hair pin from her hair, and holds it out to me. I look over to her, something between us for a moment.

 

"...Do you believe me?" I ask, quiet. "...Do you believe -"

"I believe that you'd never hurt my son." She says simply, and then presses that pin into my hand. She stands. "...You've got five minutes before the guard comes back."

 

I love you, Elaine, I think, shadow of a smile on my face.

 

"Wait!" I call, as she heads for the door, and she stops, looking back at me. I curl my fingers around that pin. "...Geraldine? Lisa? Are they...?"

 

"Just cuts and bruises." She says, and there's a hint of a sad smile there. 

 

It makes me worry about the state that Sebastian must be in. 

 

\--

 

Picking the lock on that cuff takes me seconds at most, but I'm groggy from whatever drugs they've got me on, and my fingers are clumsy. I climb out of bed with leaden limbs, and immediately the blood rushes to my head, making me woozy. I have to brace myself on the bed, and quickly decide to get dressed when I feel the draft blow up the back of that paper gown. I'm conscious of Elaine's warning about the guard - but I can't go out in this. I might not get a chance to come back. 

 

I gingerly pull back on my suit trousers and shirt, both of them crusted with dried blood... mine, Craig, or... someone else's. My body aches, and when I look down at the skin, I'm covered in cuts and bruises. I don't stop though. Not even for a second. I need to see him, I need to get out of here and besides... I've had worse.

 

If one good thing has come out of this mess... at least Craig is dead. 

 

By the time I reach the door and peek out into the empty hall, three of my five minutes have already elapsed. My body throbbing, I slip out and then to the left, realising with a jolt that I don't even know where he is. I'm wincing as I toe my shoes on, feeling my way down the corridor - and as I come to the next room, I see his name on the patient file in the box on the wall. My heart lurches into my throat, and after quickly looking around myself - and back at my door for that guard, I'm ducking inside, and closing it behind me. I stand for a moment still facing that door, listening to the muted beeps and telling myself that I'm waiting to see if anyone follows me in here. If anyone's seen me, and is going to run in and cuff me all over again.

 

But in all honesty, I just don't want to turn around and see Sebastian.

 

See what I've done to him. The damage I've caused.

 

His father. His film. Now this. 

 

At last, and only because I know I'm running out of time... I turn around.

 

Sebastian lays in the bed, naked above the waist, with the soft hospital sheets draped up to his middle. There are wires, tubes attached to him. His chest, his wrists, and there's a breathing mask on his face. His hair is just beginning to fall over his eyes. His hands lay, prone and still on the sheets. He doesn't move. 

 

I step over carefully, hands clasped in front of myself anxiously like a nervous schoolboy, shooting glances at the door. I don't have long.

 

_They'll come after me. I need to get away._

 

Even after everything, it was all for nothing. My headquarters is gone, along with my two second in commands. And now I have to leave him too, because staying with him is too dangerous. Because I don't want him to hurt anymore.

 

"Look at you..." I say quietly, my voice soft and broken, my fingers hovering over his cheek, too scared to touch him lest I make another mark. In his sleep, in response to the light tickle of my fingers, Sebastian turns his head.

 

And then I see the bandages, thick and white, not secured - but just padding over one eye and half of his face. 

 

_Stemming the bloodflow. Or the chemical burns. The mottling, melted skin..._

 

I hesitate, unable to help my horrified curiosity. I have to know. I have to see what I've done.

 

I reach gently for the bandages, and they come away easily in my trembling hands, crusted and damp with blood - new and dried. I choke back a gasp at the angry red gash, stretching from eyebrow to cheek - deep and red... though his eyelid appears whole, eyelashes soft and blonde against his cheek. I stagger backwards and find another medical chart at the end of his bed, scanning it frantically for any talk of sight loss, of semi blindness, of permanent disability... but there's none, or at least, I can't find it. 

 

I slot the file away with unsteady hands, and brace my hands on the edge of the bed, guilt crashing in my chest. I haven't heard the door, but Elaine is suddenly next to me again, a hand rubbing my back.

 

"Is he blind?" I ask her, my voice thick with panic. My eyes remain on Sebastian. On his scarred face.

 

_An actor's face._

 

_He's got no career left._

 

"...No. It missed the eye." She tells me calmly. "It was a shard of concrete, we think.  He was very lucky." And then; "The guard's on his way. I dropped coffee on him at the vending machine, but..."

"Thank you." I manage, and with difficulty, turn my face away from the man I love. Elaine steps away from me, and walks back to her son. She finds a new roll of bandages, and begins creating a new wad of padding for that eye. I suddenly feel like I'm intruding on a private moment, and swallow hard, looking away. 

 

I have to get out of here. The less they see me with Sebastian, the better. 

 

_I wish I could have said goodbye to you properly. Thank you for everything, sweetheart. I'm so sorry._

 

The words are in my own head, but somehow I hope that he hears them, that somehow he receives them through his drug addled sleep. 

 

I leave Elaine  to look after him... to pick up the pieces of his life, again. 

 

And then I slip out of the door, and down the corridor.

 

\--

 

I don't spot the guard, but I run to my left, as far away as I can from the room. My heart is aching, and for the first time in my life since childhood, I feel truly alone. I have nothing. My wrists burn from where I've pulled myself free of the IV, and I try and ignore the throbbing aches and bruises, the dryness of my mouth and throat. I'm walking aimlessly down the halls, with no idea where I'm headed... No future. No past. 

 

A wanted man, with the reputation he craved.

_I don't want it. Let me be anonymous again. Let me rule the world from behind a screen._

_Take me back to that movie set. Laughing with Sebastian, not a care in the world._

 

"We've got John Honsson... I know... I couldn't believe it. No, no... Don't tell the paps..."

 

The nurses hurry past me, their conversation hushed and excitable, paying no attention to the suited man huddled over in the corner, hiding his blood covered front. 

 

"Oh my gosh.."

"Yeah.."

"Where is he?"

"Third floor. G6 ward. You know Karen?"

"Oh, Karen has him? She must be so excited.."

And suddenly, I know where I'm going.

 

\--

 

The third floor doesn't seem to have any more guards than my floor - but unluckily for me, Honsson's policeman is sitting directly outside the room, and scrolling on his phone. The rest of the corridor is empty - no doubt reserved for him, and I feel a sudden thrum of anger on Sebastian's behalf. I'm the criminal, yes, but he's a victim too. Doesn't he deserve the best?

 

It puts a pang into my chest, a deep, heavy ache, that I'll never be able to tell him any of this.

 

I watch the police officer from behind the wall for a while, sneaking looks whenever I can. I don't think he's armed, which is thankfully typical of the British police. He'll have a baton - a nightstick, but if I approach stealthily enough he won't be able to reach me. Unfortunately, covered in blood and with a stiff, pained gait - I'm not exactly stealthy at the moment. Another nurse passes me, and slips into a locker room. I hide away from her - and then follow, slipping into the room just after she's left, before the door can close.

 

When I emerge, my suit is covered clumsily with a pair of scrubs, and I head down the corridor with mock confidence, keeping my eyes from that police officer until I'm slowing outside the door, and he glances up.

 

"Can I-"

He begins, but my hand shoots out, and rams his head into the wall with a dull crack. He slumps down in the chair, and Moriarty flexes inside me, that repressed rage fluttering, blooming once more. I haven't made the conscious decision to let Moriarty come back - to let him take over, but it seems almost natural. I'm running on autopilot, my heart is broken, my life destroyed. 

 

The rage is the only tangible thing inside me at the moment. 

 

"Sorry." My voice is curt. Not my own. I glance around, take his feet, and then pull him deftly inside the room. And then Moriarty locks the door behind me.

 

\--

 

Honsson's eyes are closed, and he's connected to a drip. He's got cuts and bruises, but is otherwise unharmed - as his chart confirms, when I flick through it, watching the man with revulsion. The guard is slumped, unconscious in the corner of the room, and I stand for a long while just staring at Honsson, everything he's done going through my mind. Moriarty paces and prowls in my chest, and I can feel him in the depths of me; in the lengths of my fingers, the darkness of my eyes. 

 

I am rage. I am emptiness. 

 

This man has taken everything from me.

 

Honsson must sense it somehow, because he jolts awake as if from a bad dream after a few minutes, squinting through the dimmed light of the room. I wonder what I must look like, half shrouded in shadow. I don't move, just gazing at him. Motionless in my hatred, seething rage coming off me in ripples.

 

"Jim." He rasps after a moment, and then when I say nothing, he tilts his head at me, and laughs in quiet disbelief, voice still thick with sleep in the darkness. "No... It's not, is it?"

 

I'm silent for a long moment, and I don't look away. I let my eyes bore into him, glittering with malice. Jim doesn't live here anymore. 

 

"No." I agree, smooth and low. "It's not."

 

"...It's an honour to meet you at last, M."

 

That mocking quality is still in Honsson's voice, but there's something else behind it. Maybe even the flickerings of fear, as he lays prone in the hospital bed. Without his remotes. Without his thugs. He's completely at my mercy.

 

Moriarty doesn't know the meaning of the word 'mercy'.

 

"You wanted to break me, Burch." The drawl slides from my lips, cold. I hold out my arms slowly, palms up, paying no attention to my bloodied wrists, a consequence of those torn IVs. "... Do you like what you see?"

 

"...I wanted the business." Honsson corrects just a tad quickly, and if I'm not wrong, he's sliding a little further up the bed, slowly pulling his legs away from me. He laughs. "...It was nothing -"

"If you're about to say 'it was nothing personal', I suggest you stop now."

 

He falls silent. I walk slowly, almost nonchalantly to the medical trolley in the corner, in front of which the guard is slumped, and bend down, sliding my hand into a tray at the same time as I withdraw the guard's nightstick. I extend it as I straighten, and turn back to Honsson with a sanguine smile. Sickeningly sweet. 

 

"How did it feel?" I ask him, "Watching me beat Craig to death?"

 

"Listen, Jim." Honsson begins, and he holds up his hands, eyes darting this way and that - lingering on a phone on the side. No doubt wondering how quickly he could call for help. Call his thugs in here. He laughs nervously as I saunter closer, fingers tightening on that nightstick. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't press the damned button. The girl did it herself. And your headquarters... they're.. still there..."

That one pulls me up short, and I pause, though I don't loosen my grip. He clutches at the chance. 

 

"Yeah. The remote was just to the vest. I was planning on detonating the second bomb when you chose Moran, but..." He shrugs, laughs again, a tough higher pitched. "Didn't have chance."

 

  
_As if any of that matters._

Moriarty just shakes his head.

 

"You ruined an actor's career." I point out, calmly. "...You made sure I'd be held accountable. I lose him."

 

He shrugs, grins almost good naturedly. His anxious eyes flit to that stick and back to me. "...Perk of the job.."

 

"You murdered my second in commands."

"I never pushed the button"

"You put it on her. She was selfless enough to think that she was taking that choice away from me."

"She almost ruined your business."

"She didn't know."

 

Honsson laughs, exasperated, wriggling away from me and tugging at his IV lines. 

 

"....There's no harm done, is there?" He insists, a pleading edge to his voice that makes Moriarty sneer. "Come on, your building's still standing. Your boyfriend's still  _alive_ -"

"Are you asking me to spare you, Burch?" Moriarty asks with dark amusement, still toying with that stick in mid air. Honsson can't seem to take his eyes off it, and he just smiles nervously, a languid but tight grin, that anxiety visible in the creases of his face. 

 

"...Would you like me to say please?" He scoffs, and then; "A truce, M. I'll spare your men. You spare mine."

 

"Thousands of my men should be dead right now. You didn't spare Viana."

 

"I didn't -"

"Say please."

"What?"

 

I smile, saccharine. Moriarty's words. "I said; you're asking me to spare your life. I want you to say please."

A long pause. Honsson's face sets into something ugly, something reluctant, but his eyes don't leave that stick, twitching when my fingers tighten around the hilt.

 

"Please."

 

"...What was that?"

"I said please." He's speaking through gritted teeth. Reluctantly muttered. I hear his heart rate monitor pick up a little.

 

"Please... what?"

 

Moriarty arches an eyebrow. Honsson's expression darkens. But he plays along, as much as it bruises his pride. His words are curt, stilted.

 

"Please spare my life, Jim."

 

 "...Who?"

"....Please spare my life, M."

"Sorry?"

A sigh bursts out of him, exasperated, and he almost shouts the words, an explosion, glaring at me.

 

"Please spare my fucking life, _Mr Moriarty,_  sir, for God's sake, is that alright?!"

 

I smile, wide and pleased, sickeningly sweet. As promised, I press the nightstick against the bed, until it retracts. I feel Honsson deflate slightly with relief, watching the weapon fold away. Watching me fulfil my promise. 

 

Quick as a flash, my left hand slips from my pocket, and rams the scalpel straight through Honsson's chest. The blade slams through the skin and muscle, and the blood spurts, a heavy gush that drenches me in hot crimson, as Honsson thrashes and gargles a drowning scream, the blood spilling over my fist. 

 

I'm laughing, laughing as his blood drenches me through, laughing wildly as he convulses, as I drag the blade through his chest cavity, tearing through muscle and sinew, until I hit bone. His blood soaks through his gown, the covers on the bed, my clothes, and I'm still laughing, no longer myself, only Moriarty, only rage and pain and violence. 

 

When he finally shudders and falls still, that blood still pumping, flowing slickly over my fingers, my own laugh slows to a rasping chuckle. I pull back, breathless, straddling his lifeless body on the bed, and wrench that scalpel free, bringing with it a sickening crack, and a fresh deluge of blood. I feel mad with bloodlust, giddy with it. I almost want the guard to wake up, so I could take him too. 

 

_Why shouldn't they feel the devastation that I feel?_

 

_I have nothing else._

 

_I'll kill them all. I'll kill everyone._

 

"Jim?"

 

The voice is soft, and quiet. It takes a long time for me to even hear it. By the time Sebastian's hand comes to rest tentatively at the centre of my back, he must have tried to talk to me two or three times already. 

 

I don't look around. I don't respond to that name. 

 

I'm still sitting atop Honsson's dead body, his face contorted in melted, frozen horror in death. Pale and bloodless. I'm covered in the contents of his chest.

 

"Jim, please..."

 

Warm, rough-skinned hands cup my bloodied cheeks, and blue eyes search mine anxiously, one of them dissected by the harsh red gash. He's changed out of his gown. My black eyes find his, but they don't see. They don't see. 

 

"I knew you'd be here..." He says quietly, gently, those fingers still on my cheeks. 

"Leave me."  Moriarty says coldly, and I pull my face from his grasp, and climb from the bed, Honsson's body quivering and then falling still. Moriarty straightens his jacket, runs his fingers down the lapels. He turns to go. 

"This isn't you." Sebastian says, and his voice is soft. He reaches for me. "Jim -"

 

"Don't touch me."  Moriarty snaps, and then closes his eyes. Me.. him.. Sebastian Moran has touched us both. "...I can't stay."

 

"It isn't your fault, Jim."

 

"Viana and Mansfield are dead." Moriarty snaps, turning to round on Sebastian, his fingers curling into fists. "Donald, too. You're maimed. You'll never work again, and they're on their way to arrest me. This -" He gestures disinterestedly to Honsson's body. "- is another strike."

 

"Jim -"

"Let me go, Moran."

 

"Not a fucking chance."

 

I turn around at that, Moriarty's seething determination ebbing a little. "...What?"

 

"I know you're in there somewhere."

 

Moriarty glares at Sebastian, and Sebastian dips his head and kisses me, kisses us, Honsson's blood and all. The two of us melt into it, and suddenly, my fingers are fisting in his hair, a choked sob bursting from my lips against his. And just like that... Moriarty is momentarily back in his box. Sebastian kisses me more roughly, needily, pulling me hard against him, his words muffled and frenzied against my lips.

 

"...Wasn't sure I'd... ever see you again..."

"M'sorry... I'm so sorry... your face..."

 

"When they strapped that... fucking thing to me..."

"...'Sall my... fault.."

"Thought I'd... thought that was it..."

 

"I'm sorry..."

 

He tugs me into a hard embrace, holding me close, and my hands fist in his shirt, my breathing shaky. 

 

"None of it was your fault, alright? None of it..."  I close my eyes, hold him close, and I can feel his eyes on Honsson over my shoulder. Broken and bloodied. "... He hasn't gotten away with it. With... Viana."

 

"... It was him." I whisper, and I hope he knows.

 

"M." Sebastian says simply, and I stay silent, saying nothing. Quiet confirmation. He understands. 

 

"They'll come after me." I say, and lean back, rubbing my eyes with bloodied hands, and smearing crimson beneath my eyes. Sebastian wipes them with his sleeve instead. He looks at Honsson's bed. Blood drips steadily onto the clean floor. 

"Yeah." He agrees. "...They will."

"...Any minute now."  My eyes find the guard in the corner. Moriarty grins at the memory of the attack. I shudder. I hate being... taken over.  "I need to go."

Sebastian nods, and then; resolute. "...I'm coming with you."

 

"Sebastian -"

"What else can I do?"  A bitter smile. "...The acting's out of the question now, isn't it?"

Guilt lashes at my chest, and my fingers hover over that cheek, ghosting over the gash. The scar that will line his face forever.

 

"I'm so sorry.."

 

"Don't be. If it wasn't for the accident, I'd still be in the army. I belong in the field."

 

I frown, confused, and then glance towards the door at the faint sound of panicked voices. Our guard in the corner stirs, and gives a groan. 

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Sebastian takes my hand in his own, and then leans down and kisses me, soft and slow.

 

"I mean," He says, low and earnest. "...I love you."

 

There's an urgency to the way he pulls me across the room. He takes up that nightstick, and snaps it back out to full length. His gaze takes on a steely determination. He's ready to fight.

 

"...I love you too. But you -"

He pulls me towards the door. Covered in blood, the two of us battered and bruised; miraculously, still alive. 

 

I stop dead, pull Sebastian to a standstill. 

 

"You don't know what you're doing. They'll come after you too. They'll blame you for everything. You'll never be able to step outside again, not without -"

"Jim."

 

He looks at me, that resolute half-smile on his tired face, though his eyes are alight with adrenaline. Moreso than I've ever seen them on a film set. 

 

"...What?" I say, as we pause by the door, his fingers on the handle, and his others on mine. The smile on his face is short, but determined. 

"... It's time for a career change."

 

He yanks open the door, and then drags me out after him - and we have to break into a run when we reach the corridor, guards screaming at us from the other end, and giving chase. My heart begins to race, my aching body protesting, but Sebastian's hand is warm and firm around mine, and my heart thuds hard and insistent. We reach the lifts, and behind us, the corridor is swallowed to a sliver by the doors, Sebastian urgent but defiant as he slams his thumb on the button, again and again. 

"Come on... come on!"

 

Behind us, I hear the yell into the radio -  a shriek for assistance, the first sign of what the rest of the world is in for. 

 

"Moriarty and Moran. In pursuit!"

 

_That might just work._

 

I couldn't agree more.

 

\--


	38. The Epilogue

**\-- THREE MONTHS LATER --**

 

 

The snow falls steadily outside the window, and the earth outside is hard with frost. The temperature has dropped dramatically recently, and I watch the thick flakes flutter past the orange light of the streetlamp, ready to blanket the world - just in time for Boxing Day, when the children of London will run outside to play in hats and scarves, the damp seeping through their gloves. 

 

I'm caught up in my own world, a warm mug nestled in my hands, curled on the sofa. The steam curls in the air, and I take a sip as Elaine heads in, and sets down a tray of iced biscuits on the coffee table, before sitting back down next to me with a smile. Rex lifts his head from where he's laying, resting against my thigh, and she ruffles his ears. I feel full; impossibly so, and not just from the Christmas dinner that Elaine cooked so painstakingly all afternoon, batting away my efforts to help. There's a happiness in my chest; a contented peace - dampened only by thoughts of my friends that didn't make it to the end of the year.

 

Donald.

 

Mansfield.

 

Viana.

 

It's as if Elaine senses it. She reaches for one of my hands, coffee-warmed, and gives it a squeeze. I give a sad smile in return, and I know she understands.

 

"Thank you," I say. "For everything. This year. I..."

 

The front door slams, and a gust of cold air blows into the living room, momentarily disturbing the cosy air. The fire crackles, and the TV is on low, a Christmas film playing. Rex jumps up, and his paws pad across the rug as he heads into the hall. I hear Sebastian's laugh as he scratches between the dog's ears, and something pleasant settles in my stomach. Elaine takes the mug from my hands with a knowing smile, and I get up, heading towards the door myself. 

 

My second-in-command stands in the doorway, a lopsided grin on his face, cheeks pink from the cold. That scar, jagged and red, dissects one eye - but that blue gaze finds me easily enough, and there's a warmth there that puts something light in my chest. Rex pads happily back into the living room to sit with Elaine, and Sebastian steps over to me, a rifle slung over his back as he lifts a hand to impatiently brush snow from that blonde hair. 

 

"Everything go to plan?" I ask, leaning in the doorway to the hall myself, and he smiles, slides his phone from his pocket and shows me the picture. The body of the dead Russian greets me, and I nod. 

 

"Freezing my balls off, out there." He muses, and I hear a loud tut from the living room, Sebastian grinning at his mother's chiding.

 

I never thought it'd work like this. 

 

I never thought it'd work at all.

 

-

 

We'd left the hospital together, the two of us barely able to walk and yet managing to run for our lives, leaving Honsson's mutilated body in our wake. I didn't ask Sebastian how he knew how to hotwire a car, and at the time, it didn't seem important. Later, he'd answered something about the army - and I'd discovered that cleancut Colonel Moran wasn't all he seemed. On the brink of a dishonourable discharge, dropped when his friends were blown to pieces around him. 

 

"I assaulted one of my superiors."

 

 He'd admitted as we drove. I'd found an old jacket in the backseat, and pulled it on, scrubbed at my face with wet wipes - trying to hide some of that drying blood. 

 

"Didn't deal well with authority. I probably should have left, long before..."

 

I'd known what he was going to say. Long before the pain of losing everyone had forced his hand.

 

 He'd taken us straight to my headquarters - a smart move, the place thankfully never associated with me, and we were instantly enveloped by the men, my men, lost in the absence of Viana and Mansfield both and eager for some kind of direction and leadership. Still injured and groggy, we'd gone to the top floor. It stood empty - Viana's name plaque on the desk, quiet and still, and it had hit me then, exactly what I'd lost. Sebastian had taken my hand before I could give in to the grief. Reassured me. You killed him, he told me. You made sure he suffered. They wouldn't have asked for anything else.

 

I'm not sure I can do this, I'd said back to him, looking over the vast emptiness of the room. The smart tech, the computers, the intercoms and the central control screens that linked the top office to every man under my control. It had been so long. Acting as the head of the business, and yet not really - just an... anonymous voice through the phone, an order here or there. This was Viana and Mansfield's. Not mine, not really. I might have been M, but it was a long time ago that I was directly in control. 

 

You owe it to them, was all Sebastian had said, but gently. And then; I know you can do this. 

 

I'd turned to face him, and he'd kissed me again, slow and soft, full of faith and understanding - my Sebastian Moran, somehow knowing exactly what I needed. 

 

Later, when he'd tended to my injuries, and I'd tentatively started answering calls and emails, he'd come to stand behind me, warm hands massaging my shoulders... and he'd asked curiously;

 

"... Do you have any sniper rifles?"

 

-

 

I squeak, and then scowl and bat at Sebastian's cold hands as he puts them around me, and slides them beneath the hem of my jumper.

 

"Get off! You're fucking freezing!"

He just laughs, and when he kisses me, he's smiling, his lips cold too. I can't resist kissing him again. And then once more, just in case. I haven't seen him for a couple of hours after all, the call coming through right after we'd finished the dinner. 

I pout when I pull back at last, though my heart is thudding. "I wish you'd let me send someone else.. It's Christmas Day."

 

"Yeah well, I didn't miss dinner did I?" He teases, and then tugs his coat off beneath his rifle strap. "I still need all the practice I can get."

"Looks like a good shot." I compliment, thinking back to the phone picture, and he smiles, proud of himself, and kisses me again, those cold hands on my cheeks.

 

"Thanks. I aim to impress..."

 

"Are you two going to stand snogging in the hall all night, or are you coming in?" Elaine calls, and we're both smiling into that kiss, pulling away to head through. Sebastian kicks off his boots. 

 

"Mum, when did you have time to make bis-"

 

"Take that gun off right now, Sebastian Moran."

 

Sebastian stops with a roll of his eyes, and heads back into the hall at his mother's command. I have to bite back a smile at the chide, and take my seat back beside Elaine, who sighs and mutters.

 

"Just like his father."

 

I reach over, and squeeze her hand. Sebastian heads back in, wearing jeans, thick socks and a jumper, and throws himself down into an armchair, reaching across to take my free hand. 

"What's she complaining about now?"

"Don't talk to your mum like that."

"You two. Ganging up on me." 

 

Elaine and I share a conspiratorial smile. Sebastian shoots me a wink, and reaches for a biscuit.

 

-

 

We'd never intended on spending Christmas with Sebastian's mother. There was a time, and I told him this when we got started, when I thought that he might not be able to see her again. When she really would only have Rex to keep her company, another member of her family swallowed by a criminal empire.

 

Almost that thought alone had been enough to make me tell Sebastian that he couldn't stay.

 

But in the end... we had to make it work. I knew he was too devoted not to see her, but that meant danger - though trying to stop it from happening could be even more dangerous.

 

Elaine's home has been fitted with CCTV cameras, internal and external. It's monitored twenty four seven, with my men patrolling outside on the hour. Every hour. She's got titanium bolt locks, three on the front and back doors, and Sebastian has even had an ex police dog trainer work with Rex, trying to refresh his army training on identifying and attacking threats. The phone lines in the area are monitored too, and when visiting, Sebastian and I arrive and depart in disguises. And it's not just for her benefit - it's for ours, to save us being tracked by paparazzi, as well as the police. Our faces are plastered in every newspaper, the media having fallen in love with our story. The criminal mastermind and the innocent actor, dragged into the bloodshed and brainwashed.

 

Sebastian still gets a laugh out of it. 

 

-

 

"What are we watching?"

 

Sebastian asks, as I sigh, Elaine changing the channel as I pick up my coffee again, curling my legs beneath myself. Rex circles on the carpet, and then finds his spot at the base of Sebastian's chair. 

 

"...The memorial. It's shown today, remember?"

 

Sebastian purses his lips together with distaste, and I turn up the volume, the memorial service that was filmed a few days ago in Hyde Park being broadcast to the world at last. A picture of John Honsson - or Burch, as we know him - stands alongside one of Donald at the back of a tall stage. Those two don't deserve to share the same space - even just in photograph form. Donald doesn't deserve to be placed next to his killer. I reach over, and Sebastian grips my hand hard in his own. Elaine smiles sadly at us both, and then shakes her head at the screen, as angry as we are. 

 

"That man..."

"He got what was coming to him." Sebastian says flatly, though he's never gone into detail about Honsson's fate with his mother. Nor, about any of the events of that day. Though she knows. Of course she knows - like she knows where Sebastian's just come back from, and what he used that rifle for. She's a clever woman. The wife and mother who's always chosen to look the other way. 

 

I feel a little sick when I think back to that day in the hospital. My hands, carving through muscle and sinew with that scalpel, blood spurting uncontrollably. Laughing.. 

 

I don't know what came over me.

 

Well. I do. He did. M

 

Sebastian squeezes my hand.

 

\--

 

Sebastian has been understanding about M. Moriarty, the man inside the man, the one I can never escape. We sat down, a few days after the hospital, and I tried to talk about it - but how do you explain that there's a darker part of you? That there's a darkness inside me, that will never go away? He'd only had one question, which he'd asked almost sadly, blue eyes on mine.

 

"...You couldn't use him to get rid of Craig?"

 

"...I did." I'd answered, looking away almost embarrassedly, not able to hold his gaze. I was forced to add a sheepish; "...Eventually."

 

He'd reached over, and ran a thumb over my cheek, warm and roughskinned. 

 

"You needed him." He'd summarised. "You needed to keep him around."

 

But by that time, I'd realised the truth. I'd shaken my head, the words quiet. Knowing it hadn't made it any easier to accept.

"...No. I was scared of him."  I'd found that blue gaze again, resolute. "He made me weak. He made me feel like nothing."

 

"...And you couldn't face that."

 

I'd shaken my head. 

 

"...Maybe that makes me as pathetic as he always said I was."

 

Sebastian had smiled, small and wry. He'd leaned in, and kissed me on the forehead. 

 

"I bet he was regretting all of that, when you picked up that mallet..."

 

"...Not me."  I'd said, with a sad smile of my own. 

 

Sebastian had sighed. He'd tilted his head at me.  "...None of us like all of ourselves. But don't give him all the credit. That _was_  you."

 

_He's right, you know. We're one and the same, you and I._

 

Oh, go away.

 

Moriarty has been quiet since I've taken control of the business again. Ordering the killings, the extortion... running the everyday necessary evils of controlling a criminal empire. It keeps him sated, keeps him from interjecting in my private life, and sneering at my relationship with Sebastian. I let him have free reign with the business, more or less - and more than once, I've caught Sebastian watching me with raised eyebrows as Moriarty spits a command, or sneers an ordered drawl down the phone. He's brutal, he's violent and sadistic - but he's a genius with the work, and we've never been more successful.

 

"...Does it scare you?"  I'd asked Sebastian a few weeks ago, over dinner, the night after a particularly horrific mass killing. Bankers, in a central London office, who'd been trying to swindle Moriarty out of the payments they owed him for bumping off a whistleblower colleague. Moriarty had given the order so nonchalantly, laughed at the screams that played back over the intercom, the gunshots and the confirmations. Sebastian had been one of the snipers attending. When that bloodlust had died down, we'd gone out for Italian. 

 

"...It's more... unsettling, than scary." He'd admitted, "But I know you. And I think I know him, too."

 

"...What?"

"Me and him, we've come to a kind of understanding." Sebastian had mused, helping himself to a slice of garlic bread. "Keep out of the other's way. Secretly, I think he likes me too."

 

I'd suspected as much, too. I'd just rolled my eyes, but found myself rather relieved that he wasn't scared of me. I'd tucked into our meal without another thought. And Sebastian had held my hand under the table. 

 

_How disgustingly sentimental._

 

You like him too. I know you do.

 

_...He'll do. For now._

_\--_

On the screen, Geraldine and Lisa sit pride of place on the stage, their chairs to the side of a podium, at which the police commissioner is giving a speech. Elaine has muted the volume, but at certain intervals, they show pictures of Sebastian's face, and then mine. Actors headshots, rather than mugshots. Sebastian's thumb strokes over the backs of my knuckles, but he doesn't seem to be unsettled - he watches the screen like a life gone by. A different world. It was, I think. Costumes and pretend kissing, trailers and green rooms. We never even finished the film that will be shown, in its half length, after the screening of the memorial. It's a shame. I so wanted to give David and Chester's story a voice.

 

Blame the director.

 

"...Do you miss it?" Sebastian asks me, and when I glance over, lost in my thoughts, he's watching me with the shadow of a wistful smile.

 

"...Mm?"

 

"Acting."

 

I think about it for a moment, Elaine looking at me interestedly, and then shake my head.  

 

"I didn't really do enough of it. It was a lot of fun, while it lasted... But it was always a means to an end."  I give a wry smile. I've ended up back where I started, in a way. But I wouldn't change a thing. Wouldn't lose Sebastian now. 

 

I just wish I hadn't had to lose Viana and Mansfield. And Donald..

 

My eyes flick back to the screen, and that portrait of my late costar. "...How about you?"

 

"...Kind of." Sebastian admits, and drops a hand down to stroke Rex. "...But I also missed the army. I really, really missed it."

 

I remember him, showing me that army uniform, so careful with the khaki material. 

 

"You're both where you belong." Elaine decides, though sighs, turning back to the screen. "...It's just a shame it took... all this.. to get there."

 

"You wanted reputation, right?" Sebastian asks me, and I smile, roll my eyes. They flash a picture of my face onto the back of the memorial stage again. They've chosen a particularly good one. I'm unsmiling, circles under my eyes. "Well, mission accomplished."

 

"Not quite." I laugh, and reach for a biscuit, taking a bite and then talking with my mouth full. "...And you're still acting every day."

"What?"

"You know. The cool, sharp-eyed sniper. The second in command."

 

"I don't need to _act_  cool and sharp eyed. I  _am_  cool and sharp eyed."

 

I shake my head. "You got me, with Honsson though. Jesus Christ, I really thought you-"

 

Elaine holds up her hands. 

 

"I don't want to know about it. I don't want to hear about how close anybody came to dying, or anything like that!"

 

Sebastian just chuckles, and we share a look. He already knows, anyway. I'll never forget that day. That... heart attack.

 

"Oh - put the sound on!"  The commissioner has walked off stage, and Geraldine approaches the podium with papers in her hand. I'm interested to hear what she has to say. She knows the truth, after all. In fact... in fact, she bought us time. Before Viana pushed that deadly button, she risked it all by throwing herself at Burch. She could have died. 

 

I always did love her. I'm so glad she's alright.

 

Elaine unmutes the television, and a smattering of applause announces the beginning of Geraldine's speech. She's wearing sombre black, her hair pulled back into a bun. She doesn't smile, but readjusts the microphone on the podium, and silence falls. For a moment, she glances behind herself at John Honsson, frozen in time, grinning in his photograph, and holding his Oscar. I think I see a ripple of revulsion run through her gaze.

 

"Three months ago," She begins. "I experienced the worst day, of my life."

 

Her voice echoes, a reverberation bouncing around the stage. Sebastian, Elaine and I are just as rapt as her audience, though guilt lashes in my chest. If she'd never met me...

 

"It's amazing," She goes on, "How quickly someone you trust, can betray you. How quickly someone you care about, can turn your life upside down. It's astounding how suddenly your life can change; how blind we can be to the darkness of character of our closest friends."  She glances down at her notes. "We all have a darkness."

 

Sebastian and I share a look, and Geraldine continues.

 

She's talking about Honsson. Not me.

 

"Those who say they don't, are only lying to themselves. We all have secrets. Parts of ourselves not accessible, even to those near and dear to us. But what I witnessed that day, was not just a betrayal of character... but a betrayal of human nature. That man offered no remorse for Donald's death. No respect for the life that he had taken. No guilt of conscience for the bombs that he strapped to two living, breathing people. One of whom, he'd recently called a colleague."

 

Whisperings of shock from the audience at that. Nobody knows the intricate details of that day, I expect. Nobody knows who Viana was.

 

Sebastian takes my hand again.

 

Geraldine looks up now, and there's fire in her eyes. 

 

And then suddenly - she freezes. Sebastian and I both look over at Elaine in surprise, who has the remote pointed at the screen, the playback paused and her expression upset. Her lips are pursed. 

 

"...It's time to do the presents." She says, and then she's up and bustling off, Sebastian and I sharing a look, half exasperated, but understanding. She hates thinking about that day - about what could have happened, about how she could so easily have been left alone in the world. Those little details... 

 

"We'll watch the rest later." Sebastian soothes, and I nod, my gaze fixed on Geraldine on the screen. That determination, passion in her eyes. 

 

I let him take my hand, and we head to the dining table.

 

\--

 

A few minutes later, and Elaine has made hot chocolates for us all - whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles and all, and I can't help a smile, imagining Sebastian's childhood this way. We're sitting at the table, a pile of presents in front of us all; and Elaine has just opened hers, a diamond encrusted watch from Sebastian and I.

 

"It's too much. You're taking it back."

"Nope."

"Jim -"

"Just take it, mum." Sebastian insists amusedly, pulling a present towards himself and unwrapping it. Elaine looks suitably frustrated. It's a pair of socks. "...I love them."

"Don't be smart. You need good socks, running about with that gun."

"I know. I love socks."

 

Elaine sighs. "I've got some for you too, Jim."  She tosses the present at me, and then examines the watch again. "I can't possibly wear this."

 

"Yes you can. I'll be sad if you don't." I say, and she looks at me, pained. I laugh. "Oh come on! Look at all the effort you put into that dinner. It was amazing, by the way."

"But  _diamonds_  -"

 

"Is this for me?" Sebastian asks, shaking another gift, and I nod.

 

"From me."

 

He smiles as he unwraps the frame - and as he studies it for a moment, he runs his thumb gently over the glass. It's a photograph of us together; behind the scenes, taken by Eleanor on one of our first days. Sebastian watches, a faint smile on his face, as I study a script intently. We're both in costume, the set surrounding us. 

 

"...Thank you." Sebastian says after a moment, his voice soft. "...I love it."

 

I shrug, embarrassed. "It's nothing. It didn't... cost anything..."

 

He smiles though, and studies the photo fondly for another few moments before he sets it down, for Elaine to see. Then he digs out another gift, and passes it to me. "...For you."

 

The weight of the thing surprises me, and I lift it a few times, amused. "..If this is a mallet, I swear to God.."

Elaine tuts, and Sebastian just grins. I wouldn't put it past him.

 

I pull off the paper - and then laugh, turning the statue in my hands. It's an Oscar. A real life Oscar. Or... more specifically. It's Honsson's Oscar. 

"...I figured you deserved it more than he did, so.."

"You fetched it for me?"

He shrugs and nods, and Elaine shakes her head. Though she's smiling. 

 

She unwraps a squeaky bone for Rex, and the dog goes crazy for it, chasing the thing across the carpet. I'm smiling, setting the statue down and taking Sebastian's hand, pleased that Elaine made us take the time to do this. I kiss the backs of his fingers, watching him, and his eyes are fond on that photograph, a warmth in my chest as I watch. 

 

"Who wants to go for a Christmas walk?" Elaine announces, and Rex drops his bone, ears perking up. 

 

Sebastian groans.

 

"Come on!" His mother insists, chirpy. "Through the snow. I'll even wear my new watch."

"Diamonds? In the snow?!"

 

"Well, if I  _have_  to wear it..."

 

I laugh, drag Sebastian from his seat, and tug him into the hall to hunt for our Wellington boots. 

 

"Come on, you misery.."

 

"When did you get so much Christmas spirit?" He whines, and I wrap a scarf around that scowl, kissing him on the nose in reply.

 

\--

 

When we get back later, it's dark outside - pitch black, and we're exhausted, having walked through fields and Essex countryside, trudging through snow and crunchy, frozen mud. Rex had run ahead, leading the way, and Sebastian had held my hand, pointing out various points of interest. A place where he'd ridden a horse as a child. A stream where his father used to take him fishing. A field that had once housed chicken coops, that Elaine recalls teenage Sebastian stealing a hen from.

 

If we'd walked much further, we might have made it to Addington. But the happy memories there are tainted with darkness, and so I'm glad, somehow, that we turn around and head home. The construction pit where I'd fallen with Rex. The house set itself, surrounded by the grounds. All of it has been instrumental in achieving the happiness that I have now... and yet... it's been so difficult. Worth it, of course. But not easy. 

 

As it is, we take a slow and contented walk back, and the moment we close the front door behind us, Elaine announces that she's heading off to bed. 

 

"You know where everything is. Get a hot drink and some biscuits. There's Christmas pudding in the fridge."

 

"Thanks, Mum. Merry Christmas."  

 

Sebastian hugs his mother, and then it's my turn, putting my arms around her in the cosy light of the fire. Rex is already padding off to curl up on the rug, the poor thing exhausted himself. 

 

"Thanks so much, Elaine. It's... the best Christmas I've ever had. Easily. A thousand percent."

 

"Oh, Jim.."

 

"No, really. Thank you so much."

 

She gives me a sad, grateful smile, and then squeezes my arms, tired and lets me go. She toes off her boots, takes off her coat, and then heads off upstairs. Sebastian takes my hand, and leads me back into the living room. I sit gratefully in front of the fire, my nose and cheeks pink from outside, my fingers frozen stiff. As I thaw, Sebastian makes us another coffee each, and brings over a plate of Elaine's biscuits.

 

"I'm not going to fit into any of those suits after Christmas." I complain amusedly, and he grins, shrugging.

  
"What else is Christmas for, if not eating everything?"

 

He takes a pointed bite of his biscuit, and I take my coffee, getting comfortable and draping my legs over him. 

 

"... Are you quite happy?" He laughs, holding up his arms when I'm settled. 

 

"...Oh yeah." I say honestly, and there's something soft, sweet in my tone. "I am. Thanks."

 

_I am. I really am._

 

Sebastian just rolls his eyes with a smile, and lifts the remote. On the screen, Geraldine springs back to life.

 

"Men like him exist only to cause pain. To make those around them suffer; to blight the world with agony, and I for one, will not grant him the satisfaction of my tears."

 

Her determined eyes shine out of the television at us. Sebastian's hand curls around mine, and we listen, the light from the TV reflecting in the cosy darkness.

 

"I think at times like this, it's important to remember what this was supposed to be about. All of you, when this goes out, will be sat at home with your family and your friends. You'll be celebrating having each other; you'll be eating, and drinking, and spending time together - which is the ultimate price that.... my friends... have paid."

 

She glances back at Donald.

 

"No more family. No more kind smile. No more jokes. But nobody can take his memory from us, and on Christmas Day this year, I will raise a toast to friends lost."

 

Geraldine turns a page of her notes. 

 

"This film; the film that you'll soon be watching, reflecting on... this film was always intended to be controversial. Difficult. The process was always going to be artful, and complicated. David and Chester's story is one that demands dignity, and attention, and sadly in this case, was overshadowed by the tragedy that took place amidst it's creation. This was by far, one of the hardest times I have ever gone through in my life. One of the hardest, and cruelest, most... most unjust events..."

 

She has to gather herself after a moment. Sebastian leans in, and kisses me at the temple. 

 

Geraldine looks up, fiery, at her audience. Her voice is resolute. Strong.

 

"But the message of the story remains the same. And our friends... would have wanted us to take that away."

 

"I love you." Sebastian tells me quietly, and I smile, transfixed on my old costar on the screen. I glance away for a moment, and my eyes find that blue gaze. That scar.

 

Geraldine continues.

 

"Two men, finding each other against all the odds. Two men, fighting against everything that tried to keep them apart in life; be it family, society, reputation. Fighting the circumstances that they found themselves in, to let their love triumph, despite everything they faced. Despite the world telling them that their intentions were evil. And it just goes to show you, doesn't it? Doesn't that just tell you everything we need to keep in mind, now? Especially now. Especially in the light of all this pain...?"

 

There's a part of me that knows she's talking to us. Directly to us. 

 

Sebastian laces our fingers. We've come through it all, together. She's right. She's absolutely right. 

 

I swallow hard, so grateful... So, fucking grateful for him. For this. For everything he's given me, everything he's done. Everything he's accepted.

 

On the rug, Rex stretches out happily in front of the fire, and Sebastian rests his chin on my head, thumb stroking the backs of my knuckles. The peaceful, crime-fraught future stretches out before us, long and fruitful and difficult and perfect all at once. The remnants of our Christmas wrapping paper sits on the table, along with our empty hot chocolate mugs, an Oscar, some socks and a photoframe. My gaze finds that picture of us both - that attempt at a new life, riddled with problems and disasters, only to succeed, impossibly, at the last moment. To bring us home together, friends lost, but a new equilibrium found. A new beginning. 

 

Against all odds. We've made it. And Geraldine's words ring in my ears, as Sebastian's arms encircle my waist, pulling me closer. 

 

"You cannot fight the world with hate. Rage... poison... frustration... evil. They'll never win, not against what we have. What we all have - nestled in our arms, or laying in their cribs. Holding our hands, curling up with us in bed, eating Christmas dinner with us. Sitting beside us on the sofa, as we comment on atrocities so far removed from us, that we can no longer comprehend all that pain. We, are the lucky ones. And them? Their hatred?"

 

"I love you." I say back at last. Honest. Soft. Sebastian's hand cups my cheek, and his kiss is warm in the light of the fire.

_Honsson won't win._

_He tried to take so much from me._

_But he didn't break me down. Not in the end._

 

Geraldine's voice is defiant. And the cheers erupt at her last words, the stadium on their feet. Raucous applause. Wet eyes. 

 

"They will never win. They will never, ever win."

 

 

\--

 


End file.
